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‘ ONLY A TRAMP.” 


I'n^e 100. 


Faith Hayne 


A STORY. 


BY 


LUCIA E. F. KIMBALL, 

») ' 


AUTHOR OF " HOLLY SPRAYS.’ 





NEW YORK: 

The National Temperance Society and Publication House, 
No. 58 Reade Street. 

1891. 


c 


Copyright, 1891, by 

NATIONAL TEMPERANCE SOCIETY AND PUBLICATION 

HOUSE. 


EDWARD O. JENKINS’ SON, 
Printer^ Stereotyper ^ and Electrotyper^ 
20 North William St., New York. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 1. 

PAGE 

A Storm, 5 

CHAPTER II. 

Afterward, 21 

CHAPTER HI. 

At Home, 29 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Outcome, 39 

CHAPTER V. 

The Test, 51 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Search, 68 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Wrong, 79 


( 3 ) 


4 


Contents, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

IASS 

A Discussion, - -- -- --89 

CHAPTER IX. 

Only a Tramp, 97 

CHAPTER X. 

The Sequel, 108 

CHAPTER XL 

The Deepening Shadows Lightened, - - 119 

CHAPTER XIL 

Consolation, - - - - - - -129 

CHAPTER XIL (Continued). 

Reunion, 141 


FAITH HAYNE. 


CHAPTER 1. 

A STORM. 

The rain-clouds hung drearily over 
Noon Peak, and all the valleys were full 
of clinging mists, just as they had been 
for three, long, sultry August days. 

The guests of the Mountain House, 
usually rejoicing in a spirit of exhilaration, 
felt the spell of ennui creeping over them. 

The canvas, upon which spaniels and 
roses had taken wonderful shape within 
the past few days, dropped wearily from 
the hands of the ladies. Ruskin, Carlyle, 
and many other brilliant writers lay unread 
upon the table. 


( 5 ) 


6 


Faith Hayne, 

Neither music nor conversation, though 
both were attempted by a brave few, suc- 
ceeded in animating the listless company. 

Suddenly it was announced that Paul 
Devoy, an old traveller and habitual vis- 
itor at the Mountain House, had arrived 
the night before. He came late and slept 
late ; so but few had seen him. He had 
often entertained the visitors with tales, 
legends, and wild adventures, which, in 
his life of travel and observation, he had 
gathered. It was at once suggested that 
they try to prevail upon him to help them 
while away the slow hours of a tiresome 
day. 

The old man readily consented, and 
soon made his appearance among them. 
He was a yenerable looking personage, 
with a serious, kindly face, and snowy 
hair and beard. 

“ I am in no trifling mood to-day,*' he 
said, as he took a roll of manuscript from 


A Storm. 


7 


a worn portfolio, ''and shall give you a 
story from real life — one that seems in 
keeping with the spirit of nature, and, like 
her, has the blue behind the clouds.” 

THE STORY. 

Such a storm the oldest inhabitant had 
scarcely seen in these regions as came 
sweeping down upon us that black, No- 
vember night. 

All the afternoon the elements had been 
rallying their forces. The wind roared 
down the deep ravines and sank away in 
dull meanings that were more fearful to 
be heard. 

Now and then a vivid flash of lightning 
smote across the mountains, bringing out 
peak after peak in bold relief, and then 
the thunder burst above them with a fear- 
ful crash, and we looked to see their solid 
foundations torn away as it died out in 
hoarse, angry mutterings. 


8 


Faith Hayne, 


Close under the shadow of one of these 
mountains was a little cottage, where an 
old man and his daughter spent the sum- 
mer months. 

This year they had stayed later than 
usual, and the storm found them awake 
and watchful. 

Jerrold Hayne and his daughter knew 
all the wildness of these mountains, but 
that night they sat in silent awe and won- 
der. 

The little cottage shook in the tempest 
that swept over it, and it seemed as if it 
must go down before it. 

The mystery that hung about this old 
man and his daughter Faith, none of the 
many visitors to the mountains could 
solve. They came with the violets and 
stayed until the woods were crimson, but 
sought no intercourse with the people 
they met, save the ordinary courtesy and 
hospitality which true politeness required. 


A Storm. 


9 


and all attempts on the part of strangers 
at familiarity with him or his daughter 
met a quiet but decided rebuff from the 
old man. 

Faith Hayne was a true child of the 
mountains — the very impersonation of 
sweet, wild nature. She was strong and 
lithe of form, with a sprightly grace spring- 
ing from her perfect freedom in motion or 
repose. Dark, shining hair parted smooth- 
ly away from the broad forehead and coil- 
ed behind the shapely head in abundant 
braids. The rose glowed richly through 
the clear brown of her cheek, and her soft 
dark eyes now sparkled like the sun- 
shine, now flashed like the gleam of a 
mountain cascade. She was like some 
blithe, jo3^ous bird of the mountain, roam- 
ing at her own sweet will, in friendship 
and league with beast and bird and flower 
— she knew them all and their secrets. 

She made a pretty picture that night. 


lo Faith Hayne, 

sitting close by the old man in her simple 
dress of soft, gray stuff, with its scarlet 
trimmings, and a cluster of scarlet berries 
caught in the glossy braids of her hair. 

The old man grew pale and restless as 
the storm increased in violence. The 
hills trembled and shook because He was 
wroth,” he said solemnly. 

‘‘ It may take one of us. Faith,” he con- 
tinued, drawing her closer to him, '' and if 
I should be the one, there are some things 
I must tell you before I go. You have 
been a dear child to me, my sunshine — my 
all. I must tell you now why we have led 
this strange, quiet life. It was the curse 
of rum — of all curses the direst, darkest, 
most destroying. You tremble, poor 
child ! Gladly would I spare you any 
knowledge of this hideous evil and the 
story of my blighted life, but this danger 
warns me that I may not always be with 
you to keep you from the power of a cruel 


A Storm. 


II 


world, so I must tell you of that which I 
would give my life to blot out. 

“Your mother and I were children to- 
gether and early learned to love each 
other. My own family, then, like hers, 
was rich and influential ; but, while her 
father was by nature cold and proud and 
capable of self-control, my father was a 
man of strong passions, volatile, and easily 
influenced. Both families were in the habit 
of having wine on their tables, and drank 
it together socially. But my father grew 
to love the deadly draught, and it made 
the strong, kind-hearted man of generous 
impulses a weak, helpless victim, living 
only for the selfish gratification of a beastly 
appetite. For love of strong drink he 
squandered his money, deserted his fam- 
ily, and at last, in a drunken frenzy, com- 
mitted a deed which broke my mother’s 
heart, blighted my life, and hastened his 
own miserable end. 


12 


Faith Hayne, 

Maud Appleton and 1 were engaged 
early in life, and no two young beings ever 
looked out into the future with fairer pros- 
pects or happier hearts. But when loss of 
property came, through my father’s intem- 
perate habits, there came also a change in 
the treatment of myself by her family. 
They looked lightly upon my father’s 
habit of drinking, counting poverty a 
greater sin than intemperance — one which 
they could not tolerate. So they told me 
I must win back the lost fortune of my 
family before I could claim Maud as my wife. 

“This did not seem a hard thing then, 
for I was young and full of courage, and 
felt confident that I could easily conquer 
fate. 

“ Those long, weary, blissful years — 
when toil and privation and difficulty 
seemed as nothing compared with the 
prize that lay beyond — how well I remem- 
ber them ! 


A Storm, 


13 


'' And at length it was almost within my 
grasp — wealth was mine once more. I 
was again welcomed to the stately home 
of the Appletons. Maud and I were hap- 
pier for the separation than we had ever 
dreamed we could be, in our careless 
childhood. 

‘'But suddenly into the brightness of 
our reunion came a blackening shadow — 
the old curse followed me, the curse of 
rum. 

“ One night, my father, crazed with 
liquor, met a party of his boon companions, 
and they spent the night in a drunken 
revel. Reeling home in the small hours 
of the morning, accidentally his trembling 
hand lighted a fire that swept away the 
homes of a score of poor, hard-working 
men and women. There seemed no other 
way for me but to sacrifice the fortune I 
had myself acquired, to repair in some 
small way the disaster my father’s hand 


14 


Faith Hayne, 

had wrought. I knew well the price of 
this, for the Appletons laughed at my ' wild 
folly,’ as they called it. How was I re- 
sponsible for a deed my drunken father 
had done? 

‘‘ But the pale, weary faces of the women 
and children whom he had robbed of 
shelter rose up before me, and pleaded for 
justice more mightily than my heart for 
love. Maud was the only one who helped 
me make this decision. 

As she had been true to me in all the 
years of separation, so she was true to me 
now, when not our own interest was con- 
cerned, but that of others. 

' It is right, Jerrold,’ she said, ‘and I 
am sure we could never be happy if we 
made no effort to repair this great wrong. 
God will give us strength to bear what 
follows.’ 

“That was a fearful moment, Faith, 
when the realization of all I had lived and 


A Storm, 


15 


labored for hung in the balance with what 
duty demanded ; but God gave me strength 
to be true to my better nature, and I did 
all in my power to atone for my father’s 
wild deed, though it left me penniless. 

“As we had feared, Maud’s family 
scorned me for what I had done, and for- 
bade all intercourse between us. I will 
not dwell on those dark days. 

“ They urged Maud to marry her cousin, 
Herbert Austin, as proud and rich as they ; 
but though gentle and sensitive, she re- 
sisted all their entreaties. 

“ Ten long, weary years they kept us 
apart, and when at last they saw the hec- 
tic burning on her cheek, they sent for me 
and gave their consent to our marriage, 
but I knew they cursed me in their hearts. 
We were married, but it was too late; 
those ten years had done their work, and 
in a twelvemonth after you were born, she 
left us both alone in the world. 


1 6 Faith Hayne. 

"‘Her family heaped bitter reproach upon 
me, and bade me take you and myself far 
away, where they should never hear from 
me again ; and this I have done, and have 
kept you from all eyes ; for fear you 
might know sorrow as I have. 

“ Ours has been a happy life, has it not. 
Faith darling ? Have I kept you. Faith ? ” 
said the old man, passionately ; are you 
all my own ? ” And he held her away 
from him, and looked searchingly into the 
dark eyes. 

“You are my all, father — my life ! ” she 
answered as passionately. 

“You remember the young artist who 
camped near here last summer? 

The flush deepened on the girl’s cheek, 
and her eyes fell. 

“ He came to get the views for which 
this valley is famous, father,” she answered, 
hurriedly. 

“ Do you think I am blind ? ” continued 


A Storm. 


17 


the old man, almost fiercely. “ That was 
what he came for, but not what kept him 
so long, I fancy. If I am not mistaken, 
he has found something that interests him 
more than the mountains. I shall never 
come here again. Faith, and if I go before 
you,” he continued, as a brighter flash lit 
up the sky and valley, you must never 
meet him again ; he will steal your heart, 
for he is a young girl’s ideal. Even should 
he love you it would only end in misery, 
my own misery repeated, for he, Philip 
Austin, is his son — Herbert Austin’s son — 
and his family would hate you as they 
hated me. The good Father keep you. 
Faith, my pearl, my life ! ” and the old man 
folded her close in his trembling arms. 

How can I leave you in this black, temp- 
est-smitten world ? ” 

You will not leave me, father,” Faith 
answered, hopefully. “ He who keeps the 
little sparrows that build their nests in 


1 8 Faith Hayne. 

these mountains, and to-night are safe from 
the storm, will take care of us.” 

Jerrold Hayne grew calmer. 

''You have always been to me what 
she said you would be, a light shining be- 
tween me and the darkness of doubt and 
despair. He will keep us, as he does the 
little helpless sparrow.” 

And the two sat hand in hand, still and 
fearless, while the storm raged without. 

Suddenly, in a lull in the tempest, they 
heard the piteous howling of a dog ; it 
came nearer and nearer, until it sounded 
close to the door. 

"Some traveller lost in the storm,” said 
Jerrold, as, with Faith clinging to one hand, 
he pushed open the door. 

The driving rain and sleet took away 
his breath, but the dog renewed its howl- 
ing, and sought by every effort to draw 
him into the darkness. 

" I will go but a few steps, set the light 


A Storm. 


19 


in the window,” and, throwing his moun- 
tain blanket around him, he made his way 
as best he might to where the dog led. A 
flash of lightning showed the body of a 
man lying but a few rods from his door. 
Using all his strength he drew him within 
the house. 

The November sleet was frozen in his 
hair, and his face was wet and icy cold. 

'' He is alive, thank God ! ” said Jerrold, 
as he felt the feeble pulse, and hastened to 
prepare a reviving cordial. 

Faith wiped away the rain and sleet 
from his face, and took the glass in her 
trembling hand while her father raised him 
tenderly as he would a dying child, and 
then they saw that the still, pale face they 
looked down upon was that of Philip 
Austin. 

He had been out to watch the storm, 
and, losing his way in the darkness, had 
wandered on until he saw the light from 


20 


Faith Hayne, 


Jerrold’s window, and sank exhausted just 
before reaching it, and but for his faithful 
hound would have perished in the storm. 

Fate had brought these two young lives 
together again, fate, or, perchance, some- 
thing higher and better — Providence. 


CHAPTER IL 


AFTERWARD. 

The night of darkness and tempest 
passed, and the morning came full of elec- 
trical freshness and beauty, such as is only 
seen in the mountains after a storm has 
swept over them. The sun came up and 
touched the heavy dun-colored vapors, 
and they broke and scattered in light skir- 
mishing patches of white mist, that clung 
to the valleys or hung poised airily above 
the mountains, whose bold outlines rose 
deep-blue and clearly cut against the 
crystalline sky. The woods still flamed 
with gold and scarlet, and in the distance 
the deepened tints seemed like rich mo- 
saics. The rain had swollen the streams 

( 21 ) 


22 


Faith Hayne, 

and cascades, and their white splashing 
filled the clear air with a dreamy murmur. 

Jerrold Hayne felt the thrill and exhil- 
aration of the scene, and his heart uttered 
a joyful thanksgiving for the deliverance 
of the night, in spite of the fear and 
tumult stirred within him by the sudden 
coming into his home of the stranger he 
so much dreaded. Philip had revived 
under the effect of the cordial Jerrold had 
given him, but sank away again into a deep 
sleep of exhaustion, and the sun was fill- 
ing the little room with a pleasant glow 
when he awoke. He passed his hand 
over his eyes, and turned uneasily. 

Jerrold had been watching for this, and 
moved quietly toward him. A flush 
spread over the pale face as he recognized 
the old man, and he would have spoken, 
but Jerrold stayed him with a gesture and 
explained : 

“You are weak ; do not speak ; I found 


A fterward. 


23 


you last night numb with cold and ex- 
haustion, close to my door. You will be 
stronger soon, but now you must do just 
as I tell you and lie perfectly still.’’ 

Philip again attempted to speak, but 
Jerrold silenced him by an imperative ges- 
ture, and the clear, blue eyes went search- 
ing through the room. Jerrold knew very 
well what they sought, but the sick man 
was his guest, and he was too hospitable 
and generous not to do his best by him. 

It was weeks before Philip was strong 
enough to think of leaving them, and 
Jerrold saw, day by day, the attachment 
between him and Faith growing stronger ; 
and though it filled him with a grim despair, 
he felt powerless to prevent it. He was 
like some old storm-beaten mariner, who 
stands on the shore and watches the little 
craft he has guided through many a tem- 
pest, but that somehow has shot away 
from him, drift surely and swiftly out of 


24 Faith Hayne, 

the quiet waters straight on to the rocks 
of doom.” 

Jerrold Hayne believed in destiny as 
invincibly as did Odin and his followers. 
He accepted its decrees with a kind of 
stern courage, as something against which 
there could be no availing appeal ; but 
while he dared not hinder these two from 
loving each other, he would not help 
them. 

True, no words of love had passed be- 
tween Philip and Faith, but words are 
seldom the highest or truest form of ex- 
pression. j 

There is a grand freemasonry of souls 
between those who are truly in sym- 
pathy, that is love’s best interpreter. 
It is only the people we care for indiffer- 
ently, or who never quite comprehend us, 
to whom we must forever be babbling 
pretty words. Those whose thoughts, or 
feeling, or love has depth and fervor in it. 


A fterward. 


25 


are conscious that often an attempt at ut- 
terance, is “like shaking the dew from 
one’s violets.” 

But there came a time when Philip 
Austin could no longer refrain from speak- 
ing, and to him it was the breaking of a 
happy spell. He grew strong in spite of 
his inclination to the contrary, and he saw 
that Jerrold, having discharged his duty, 
expected him to leave them. “ The stage 
was to call for him in the morning,” he 
said this one evening sitting opposite Faith, 
whose deft fingers went in and out among 
the gayly-tinted leaves and soft, silky 
mosses she was arranging. 

“A souvenir!' she said lightly a few 
moments later, tossing the cluster toward 
him, “to keep you from forgetting.” 

“Are you coming here next summer? ” 
he asked, not heeding the lightness of her 
tone. 

“ I suppose not ; father thinks he shall 


26 Faith Hayne. 

not come here again, for the present, at 
least.” 

“ Must our parting be for always. Faith ?” 
The warm color flushed the young girl’s 
face, but she did not answer. 

“ Must we part for always ? ” Philip re- 
peated. “ I shall leave my heart with 
you, have you nothing to give in return ? ” 
and he bent toward her an eager expectant 
face. He thought he knew her heart too 
well to doubt her answer. 

Faith Hayne was honest and simple. 
She did not feign surprise or hesitate to 
tell him the truth. The soft, dark eyes 
met his passionate gaze with a tender look, 
half joy, half sorrow, as she said, “I love 
you, Philip, and I am glad you love me, 
but that is all ; my father will never come 
here again, and this parting must be for 
always.” 

The full lips quivered as she spoke, and 
the tears gathered in her eyes. 


A fterward, 2 7 

** Why must this be?” Philip broke out 
impetuously. “Are you pledged to 
another? Tell me, Faith.” 

“ I am free, or was until I saw you, 
Philip, and I will tell you, for it will spare 
my father the pain of doing so. Do you 
remember hearing your mother speak of 
Maud Appleton ? ” 

“ Once or twice,” and Philip’s face grew 
troubled. 

“ She was my mother ; her family hated 
my father for loving her, and because of 
love for him she refused Herbert Austin — 
your father. It grieves me, Philip, to tell 
you this, but it would grieve me more not 
to have you know why we must part. 
Your mother would not love me, my 
father says, and I am sure he must be 
right.” 

The color had faded from Philip’s face 
as she went on, for he well know his 
mother’s feelings toward Maud Appleton. 


/ 


28 Faith Hayne, 

He had always regarded his mother’s 
slightest wish. Since his father’s death she 
had been almost his constant companion. 
The thought of meeting the displeasure of 
the proud, beautiful women he loved so 
well, was strange and startling to him. 

For the first time he questioned his 
mother’s right to direct him. All his soul 
rose in rebellion at the thought of losing 
Faith. He spoke hurriedly, “ But my 
mother will grow to love you, I am sure. 
Can not you trust me. Faith?” 

I can trust you, but I can not break 
my father’s heart ; he has had a life full of 
trouble, and I am his all. Do not tempt 
me, Philip, if you love me.” 

The next morning, Philip Austin rode 
down through the White Mountain valley, 
that still showed some of its autumnal bril- 
liancy ; but it was as gray and lifeless to him 
as the glaring sunshine that aw'akens one 
from a happy dream that was almost reality. 


CHAPTER III. 


AT HOME. 

The mellow light touched Marie Aus- 
tin softly as she leaned back in her luxuri- 
ous easy-chair, whose deep crimson was a 
pleasing contrast to her fair complexion. 

She had one of Tennyson’s '‘faultily 
faultless ” faces. The dainty gray puffs 
that crowned the smooth, white forehead ; 
the fair blue eyes that looked out from un- 
der gracefully arching brows ; the straight, 
fine nose ; the full proud lips and shapely 
chin — there was not a flaw you could pick 
in that face. 

Everything was in keeping about her — 
the elegant surroundings, the soft, cling- 
ing folds of her velvet dress, the delicate, 

(29) 


Faith Hayne, 


30 

filmy lace, and rare, lustrous pearls, all 
seemed made for her and she for them. 

Marie Austin was both supremely beau- 
tiful and supremely selfish — a combination 
in women most to be deplored. 

Selfishness that wears th'e veil of grace 
and beauty is seldom truly recognized. 
Marie Austin, moreover, was a feminine 
diplomate. She understood perfectly that 
no chains bind so stoutly as silken ones, 
and made others willing captives to her 
imperious will by never seeming to have 
any. 

In her early life wealth and flattery fed 
the springs of her natural love of self. She 
counted her admirers by the score, trifled 
with them till she was tired of the pastime, 
and then dropped them so regretfully and 
with such a tender pity (?) in her blue 
eyes, that they set her in the rosary of 
memory as the model of womanly perfec- 
tion. 


i 


At Home, 


31 

She married Herbert Austin because he 
offered her the finest establishment and 
highest social position of all her numerous 
suitors. 

Years after she learned that he had 
never ceased to love Maud Appleton, and 
that her image was still enshrined in his 
heart. 

The fact did not grieve her as it would 
have a true-hearted woman, but it roused 
a petty jealousy that in time deepened into 
bitter hatred for the innocent object of this 
affection. Not that she was ever surprised 
into a betrayal either of this knowledge or 
its effects upon her. The resentment she 
cherished silently was all the more intense 
because it found no outward expression. 
It gave shape to her love and treatment 
of her son. Herbert Austin she knew had 
never been wholly hers, but Philip she 
meant to have and hold absolutely. And 
for this end she spared no lavish of devo- 


Faith Hayne. 


32 

tion and effort. To him she was the su- 
perb, tender, self - sacrificing woman to 
whom his young heart gave its adoring 
homage. To him alone, when he had 
grown to manhood, Marie confided the 
story of his father’s early love and its ef- 
fect upon his after life, and gave it such 
form and coloring, that Maud Appleton 
appeared the offender, and she the injured 
sufferer. 

This knowledge of her secret sorrow,” 
as she styled it, increased, as Marie meant 
it should, Philip’s devotion to his mother. 
After the sudden death of his father she 
became more than ever his companion, 
and the two lived each for the other — 
Philip in a kind of grand loyalty to his 
mother, Marie in the satisfied assurance 
of full possession. 

This beautiful, self-poised, self-loving 
woman was a living refutation of the idea, 
so generally held, that wifehood and mo- 


Ai Home, 


33 

therhood — relations most sacred and bless- 
ed when rightly comprehended — of them- 
selves confer dignity, tenderness, and a 
spirit of lofty self-renunciation. If the 
primal elements of such qualities are in- 
herent in the nature, they do indeed de- 
velop and intensify them ; but if, on the 
contrary, their opposites exist, they are as 
surely brought into action. 

Wifehood and motherhood brought no 
crown to Marie Austin, for her love was 
centered in self, and she missed utterly 
the wonderful largess which true affection 
bestows, whereby the possessor finds life 
by losing it. 

And yet, looking at her that night 
flushed and animated with the pleasure 
of having Philip at home again, you would 
have pronounced her the fairest of women, 
and wondered little that Philip’s heart beat 
quickly at the resolve he had made to tell 
her of his love for Faith Hayne. Still he 


34 Faith Hayne, 

believed, as he always had, in his mother 
— she was too generous and devoted to 
chide him harshly, or withhold her ap- 
proval of that which concerned his happi- 
ness so vitally.” 

“What did keep you so long in those 
doleful solitudes, Philip ? ” she asked dur- 
ing a little pause in the many questions 
and answers that naturally passed between 
them after such a separation. “ Camping 
must be little better than the life of a sav- 
age.” 

“ I can assure you it was very refreshing 
after being stifled with city life and society 
as long as I had been,” said Philip, eva- 
sively. 

“ Stifled with city life and society,” 
Marie repeated with a slight touch of sar- 
casm in her tone. “ Are you, then, tired 
of your home and friends? ” 

“ By no means, mother dear. The com- 
forts of home and the delight of seeing 


At Home. 


35 


you are more than doubled by my absence 
and privations ; but I will tell you frankly 
why I stayed so long. You have known 
my heart from a boy, and would read its 
secret if I did not tell you,” and Philip took 
from his pocket a velvet case and touched 
the spring. 

The fair, girlish face, with its crown of 
shining braids and soft, laughing eyes, 
looked out upon the stately woman, who 
regarded it carelessly. 

“ So you are in love ? ” she said, at 
length. ‘‘ I was not prudent to let you go 
away alone. I might have known that 
some trouble would come of it,” and she 
laid her white hand caressingly upon his 
arm. ‘‘ Tell me all about it and I will 
name the penance.” 

Can you blame me, mother, when you 
look at that face ? ” he asked, as she gave 
back the picture. 

It’s pretty enough,” she answered in- 


36 Faith Hayne, 

differently, *'but that is only a face. Tell 
me all about her, Philip,” and Marie settled 
far back in her soft cushions, where the 
shadows hid her face. 

Philip told his story, while hope and 
fear waged warfare in his heart. 

He noticed the little start his mother 
gave when he mentioned the name, but he 
did not see the pallor that spread over her 
face. 

When he had finished and asked, 
“ What have you to say to me, mother ? ” 
she reached quickly forward, took the pic- 
ture, looked at it a moment, and then 
tossed it into the glowing grate, saying, 
lightly : 

“ Let that be the end of your foolish 
dream, Philip. Maud Appleton has made 
trouble enough in this family without your 
falling in love with her daughter because 
she happens to have a pretty face.” 

Philip had started forward, but it was 


At Home. 


37 


too late, and he sank back and watched 
the pale blue velvet shrivel in the red flame. 
But his face grew stern and white, and his 
voice was hoarse and passionate,as he said : 

“ I am no longer a boy, that you should 
treat me in this way.’' 

For once Marie Austin had been sin- 
cere — had outwitted herself. 

She knew this when the white heat of 
her anger was past. In a moment her arm 
was around Philip’s neck, and her soft 
hand was stroking the damp masses from 
his forehead. 

Forgive me, Philip. I did it for your 
good — for her good also. You know I 
would deny you nothing. You are blind 
with love, but you shall have your way ; 
you shall bring her here. I fear your little 
mountain bird might not fancy our way of 
living. You would not make her unhappy. 
But you shall have your way. I live in 
your life, Philip.” 


38 


Faith Hayne, 


Philip s anger died out as he looked into 
the beautiful face upturned to his, and when 
his mother kissed him good-night, saying 
he must rest, he thought she had never 
seemed so lovely before. He could not 
see the fierce fires that burned beneath 
that calm exterior. 

From the people who smile on us and 
at the same time plot against us in their 
hearts, we may well pray to be delivered. 

While Philip was dreaming happy 
dreams that night, Marie Austin was pac- 
ing to and fro, knitting her white brows 
and clasping her jeweled fingers till they 
throbbed with pain. 

It was a difficult campaign she had to 
plan. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE OUTCOME. 

Unpleasant characters do not furnish 
the most delightful subjects for contempla- 
tion, but since such exist, he who writes 
of real life must deal honestly with them. 

Marie Austin seemed farthest removed 
from even the semblance of disagreeable- 
ness, in her cool morning cambric, with its 
delicate colors and dainty ruffles. She 
had made her surroundings a study, and 
they were always exquisite and artistic. 
This summer room where the June morn- 
ing found her was perfect in its arrange- 
ments. Cool Indian matting lightened 
the dark floor. Fragile olive baskets, pro- 
fuse with graceful ferns, sprayey vines, and 

( 39 ) 


40 


Faith Hayne, 

rare, fragrant flowers, filled niches and 
windows. Easy chairs and lounges of 
bamboo lent a restful air to the scene. 
White curtains of the sheerest tissue soft- 
ened the sunshine and the wealth of ver- 
dure outside, whose delicate shade wavered 
over them. This cool, fragrant apartment 
had no grand display of upholstery, stiff 
and stately, but the whole effect was 
woodsy and refreshing. 

It opened upon a closely shaven lawn, 
dotted here and there with flowering 
shrubs and gnarled old trees. Beds of 
scarlet geraniums flamed warmly amid the 
vivid green. A fountain dropped its cool- 
ing spray over a base of mossy rocks that 
softened the drip of its water into a sooth- 
ing monotone. 

In a shaded corner sat Faith Hayne. A 
languid, delicate young lady in riding habit 
and gloves lounged gracefully in an easy 
chair. She had dropped in a moment dur- 


The Outcome. 


41 

ing her morning ride, and after she passed 
out, Marie said with a little sigh : 

Miss Bruce is just like a daughter to 
me, and no doubt would have been if I had 
kept Philip at home last summer^ He is 
like his father, impulsive and enthusiastic, 
but you seem to have him fast. Faith, so 
you need not fear ; ” this last said with a 
musical laugh which might have been 
agreeable to an uninterested listener. 
Faith bent lower over the bit of embroid- 
ery on which she was working, to hide the 
wave of color that rushed to her face, but 
she only said, Indeed ! ” Ah, how many 
vexing chasms opening suddenly before 
one, this little word has bridged. 

Marie Austin knew how to wound po- 
litely, so that one could hardly call it a 
wound at all. She knew that Faith was 
no weak girl to cry and tell Philip, but 
that she would endure silently and bravely 
for his sake. So she dropped her pois- 


42 


Faith Hayne, 

oned darts into the warm, young heart, 
and watched to see them take effects But 
there were elements in Faith Hayne’s 
character that she did not and could not 
understand. A thoroughly selfish person 
has nothing within himself by which to 
measure an unselfish one. A life which is 
simply self-appropriating, can never com- 
prehend that which has in its very nature 
the principle of self-abnegation. 

When first Marie sent an affectionate 
invitation in her own delicate chirography 
to Faith to visit her, Jerrold suspected that 
it was not genuine, and refused to listen to 
it; but when it was again and again re- 
peated, and Philip added his own entreat- 
ies, he at last reluctantly gave his consent, 
and the early summer found these three 
together. 

Marie Austin never doubted her own 
power to accomplish her purposes, so 
fully had she been dictator in her own life 


The Outcome, 


43 

and that of those about her. She believed 
that in some way through her influence 
upon Faith, she could bring to pass the 
separation she desired. But she found 
her scheme thwarted by the quality and 
strength of Faith’s love for Philip. She 
believed in him with all the fervor of a 
Faith that was perfectly dauntless, and she 
would have clung to this belief though 
mountains of doubt had flung their dark 
shadow over her. 

It is only really grand, loyal souls that 
are capable of such affection. Generally 
we give love for love, and friendship for 
friendship, and if in the exchange we find 
that we have given more than we have re- 
ceived, we are apt to be piqued at the dis- 
covery, forgetting that the grandest thing 
in love or friendship is proving ourselves 
true to others, whether or not they are 
such to us. 

This brave faith, this fine texture of 


44 Faith Hayne, 

firmness and constancy that seemed to un- 
derlie the frank, joyous nature of this 
young girl, surprised Marie. She was 
held a little in awe of her by the divineness 
of her womanly love. The arrows which 
she pointed with such care and skill fell 
harmlessly about her, wounding her in- 
deed, but repelled by the power of her 
supreme devotion. 

And so there came a time, in spite of 
Jerrold’s misgivings and Marie’s intrigues, 
when Faith Hayne wore orange blossoms, 
and took on the ring whose golden circle 
is emblematic of a union, not only for time 
but for eternity. 

What ordinary woman does not look 
charming in her wedding attire ; but Faith 
Hayne — you should have seen her in the 
white bloom of her young womanhood, 
with the shimmer of snowy drapery around 
her, and the lustrous pearls, which Marie’s 
own hand had fastened, gleaming under the 


The Outcome. 


45 


airy folds of the bridal veil that fell about 
her like a cloud of white mist. It gives 
you no idea to say that she was bewilder- 
ingly beautiful. Jerrold forgot his gloomy 
forebodings as he looked at her, radiant 
with a kind of subtile brightness which he 
had never seen even in her most joyous 
moods. 

Do you think it vanity that a women 
takes real delight in her beauty or her 
beautiful surroundings ; that a conscious- 
ness of being fittingly dressed gives a sense 
of comfort and repose ? Rather is it not, 
by virtue of an innate love of the beautiful, 
that she rejoices in things that are rare 
and lovely ? I remember when a costly 
diamond was on exhibition in one of our 
large cities, that many plainly dressed, sen- 
sible looking women went to look at it. 
To most of them it would have been a 
little fortune, but I don’t believe they 
thought of that They cared for the beauty 


46 Faith Hayne, 

that flashed upon them from this tiny 
gem. 

It was a true instinct that moved the 
little street waif when asked what she 
would like best for a Christmas present. 
She looked at her ragged dress and bare, 
blue feet, and then answered bravely, “A 
string of beads and a shiny ring.” Above 
poverty, above her sense of cold, the nat- 
ural yearning rose and conquered. If I 
were dependent upon the charity of others 
I should thank the dear Lord that there 
are no faded ribbons or second-hand cloth- 
ing in the other world. 

It is a lack of the true instinct of beauty 
that leads so many women to adopt styles 
of dress wholly wanting in grace and har- 
mony, simply because they are fashion- 
able — styles which suggest to the mind not 
only the possible truth of the Darwinian 
theory of descent, but the fear of a return 
to the same. 


The Outcome, 


47 


The danger lies in caring for beautiful 
things, not for their own sake, but for 
making a display, and for one’s own per- 
sonal aggrandizement. 

There is a royal way of receiving and 
using God’s rich gifts, and by such the 
soul even in this life enters upon its true 
inheritance. There is also a perversion of 
these, whereby the soul is robbed of its 
birthright. 

But I wander — I return. 

Into the brightness of this marriage 
scene crept a shadow, dark and direful — 
a shadow that has darkened many a joy- 
ous hour with its gloomy forecasting. 

Jerrold, yielding to a happy spell that 
seemed cast on all that night, had well- 
nigh counted his fears groundless, but 
they all returned when he looked on the 
red wine, in whose sparkle and bubble as 
it was poured into the shining glasses, 
there was the sight and sound of death. 


48 


Faith Hayne» 


To him it was the symbol of shame, and 
sorrow, and ruin. 

Though neither Philip nor Faith drank 
it, he knew the custom was a settled one 
in the family, and he had felt its curse too 
heavily not to fear the danger that lay in 
its presence. When at last the guests had 
departed, and he held Faith for a moment 
in his arms, he whispered, ‘'The wine 
Faith, the wine ! do not touch it, and keep 
Philip from touching it. There is peril 
to you both. God’s curse is on it, and 
surely ‘ at the last it biteth like a serpent 
and stingeth like an adder.’ ” 

Refusing the hospitality offered him, 
Jerrold hastened to the lodgings he had 
secured in the town. 

The early morning was dark and damp 
with a heavy mist that shrouded every- 
thing in gloom. The old man looked back 
out of the darkness to the lighted house 
that held his treasure with a suppressed 


The Outcome. 


49 


cry of anguish. It was to him as if life 
and love and heaven had been left behind, 
and only blank, desolate wandering, and 
weary, hopeless existence lay before. But 
suddenly there was a rift in the dull mass 
of clouds, and the morning star, clear and 
luminous, shone upon him. 

Jerrold was always in sympathy with 
nature, and many a time she had been to 
him a gentle comforter. Soothingly into 
his troubled soul came the thought that 
the stars were shining still beyond the 
darkness, and that somewhere farther on 
was a loving Friend, who could and would 
care for him and his. As of old to the 
tempest-tossed waters came a voice of in- 
finite calm, saying, Peace, be still,” so to 
this lonely old man came a message of 
comfort and hope in the assurance that 
his future and Faith’s were in the hands of 
one loving and compassionate. 

He did not know with what tender 


50 


Faith Hayne, 


yearning and pity Faith followed him out 
into the darkness. Rising above her own 
exceeding happiness was the thought that 
perhaps she had asked too much of her 
father, and there was an intense pang in 
the suspicion that she might have been for- 
getful of his claim upon her affection and 
loyalty. His words of warning, too, came 
back to her with a kind of terror. 

But it could not be. The noble, loving, 
true-hearted man, who was dearer to her 
than life itself, would never prove unworthy 
of the trust she had reposed in him. Her 
love would keep him from this, danger. So 
she believed, and so many another woman 
has believed that love was stronger than this 
most deadly of foes, to whom, alas ! slow 
years of consuming sorrow have brought 
at length the bitter realization of the 
truth uttered so long ago, Wine is a 
mocker, strong drink is raging, and who- 
soever is deceived thereby is not wise.’' 


CHAPTER V. 


THE TEST. 

Just at this point the ringing of the sup- 
per bell broke in upon the reading. Such 
an interruption is usually imperative among 
the mountain visitors, who are seldom 
wanting in a keen appreciation of the 
tempting bill of fare offered by the majority 
of hotels and boarding-houses in these re- 
gions. The reader remarked that such an 
interruption seemed quite n the natural 
order of things, as stories are generally ex- 
pected to end when the hero and heroine 
are safely launched on the shoreless sea 
of matrimony. 

Nevertheless,” he added, oftentimes 
the real life, sad or joyous, begins just 

(51) 


52 


Faith Hayne. 


then. Possibly you may care to follow 
the fate of those in whom I trust you have 
become somewhat interested — though I 
give you fair warning that no halcyon 
scenes await you.” 

The guests were unanimous in their wish 
to hear a further reading, and requested 
Paul to continue the story in the evening. 
To this he readily consented. 

Among the boarders at the Mountain 
House was a Yale student, who never 
failed to take his afternoon ramble through 
the woods,be the day never so dull or rainy. 

He came home this afternoon, laden with 
the treasures which he knew were greatly 
prized among the ladies. Lovely ferns 
and mosses, fragrant wood myrtle with its 
snowy, waxen berries, glowing cardinal 
flowers, shining bunch plums set in their 
circle of pale, green leaves, fungi of rare 
form and tint, all glistening with the rain, 
and redolent with the odor of the woods. 


The Test 


53 


The ladies gathered around him with 
exclamations of delight, for to these dwell- 
ers in the city, the simple products of 
nature, of which she is so prodigal in her 
still solitudes, were an ever new source of 
pleasure. 

There was always a good-natured little 
strife as to who should have the privilege 
of arranging them for the parlor. 

Who is to have the honor. Sir Knight 
of the woods ? We are all longing to- get 
at them,” May Turner, the belle of the 
house, said laughingly. It seldom^ hap- 
pened that a favor was denied May ; but 
the student looked beyond her to a quiet, 
pale-faced lady, whose silent, eager admi- 
ration had most of meaning in it. She 
was an invalid, and rarely got a breath of 
the heart of the woods except in this 
way. 

** If Miss Howland will arrange them 
for me, I shall be pleased to have her.” 


54 


Faith Hayne, 

The pale face flushed with pleasure, and 
the dark gray eyes looked their thanks. 

A little shade of vexation came into 
May’s pretty face, but she said, as they 
passed into the dining-room, Mr. Briggs 
has the secret of real politeness, if he is a 
trifle peculiar.” 

The cosy parlor of the Mountain House 
presented a pleasant scene that evening 
when the lamps were lighted. 

The warmth that came from the cheer- 
ful glow of the open fire-place was most 
agre^ble because of the chill and damp- 
ness that had come with the nightfall. 
The ferns and mosses, with bits of color 
scattered here and there, brightened the 
room. The guests made themselves com- 
fortable in easy-chairs and on sofas, as 
Paul prepared to go on with his reading. 


The Test, 


55 


THE STORY. 

PART SECOND. 

According to the established custom of 
romance writers, one of two things should 
have happened to Marie Austin. Either 
by some mysterious influence she should 
have become transformed into a generous, 
affectionate woman, or she should have 
been suddenly removed from the scene of 
action. But, however it may be in prod- 
ucts of the imagination, in real life dis- 
agreeable, unworthy people seem to hold 
as long a lease of life as their opposites. 

After the lapse of years, Marie still 
lived, a smiling, beautiful mockery of 
womanhood ; Jerrold still kept lonely 
watch from afar, over his much loved 
child ; Philip still loved mother and wife 
with a warm-hearted loyalty ; Faith, ten- 
der and patient and true, stood between 


56 


Faith Hayne, 


them all, striving as best she might, to 
keep alive the vestal fires of love and har- 
mony and hope. 

For the first year or two after their 
marriage Marie seemed really to be drawn 
out of her selfishness through the gentle 
influence of Faith’s purer nature, and the 
latter, in her exuberance of joy and hope, 
smiled at the fears which had beset her 
as she looked into the future. Those few 
years of bliss, when no shadow touched 
the sunshine that flooded her life, were a 
treasure tenderly cherished and often wept 
over in the long, dark days that followed. 

The great happiness of Philip and Faith, 
though they were ever mindful of Marie’s 
comfort and pleasure, led her to fancy that 
she was losing her place in Philip’s affec- 
tion, and awakened the jealousy that had 
only slumbered for a time. The old spirit 
of persecution returned with new force 
and bitterness, manifesting itself not in- 


The Test, 


57 


deed openly, but in petty needle pricks,” 
that are the hardest kind of wounds to 
bear, because they seem so small. 

Faith endured all these with a brave, 
quiet heroism. Whatever Marie’s caprice 
led her to do or say, she uttered no word 
of complaint, and because of this Philip 
began at length to listen to his mother’s 
grievances, dropped secretly but persist- 
ently into his ear. Perhaps the greatest 
test of strength and purity of soul is the 
power of maintaining silence under con- 
tinued provocation, when that very silence 
gives the advantage to another. But even 
the fullness of Faith’s courage and love 
could not shield her from the blighting in- 
fluence to which she was subjected, and 
the tears which fell on the face of her child 
were half of joy and half of sorrow. 
‘‘ Would the coming of this sweet-faced 
little one lighten the burden she already 
carried, or make it heavier ” ? With a 


58 


Faith Hayne, 

motherly instinct she believed it would be 
a bond of union between Marie and her- 
self. But this belief, so fondly cherished, 
was doomed to disappointment. 

A new trial awaited her. Through the 
power of her influence over Philip and his 
love for her, she had kept him from drink- 
ing wine at the table, though it was al- 
ways served, and Marie often laughed at 
her childish fear."' It was weeks before 
she was able to join the family at table, 
and there sometimes came a vague fear 
that in her absence, Philip might yield to 
his mother’s influence and take up again 
the old habit, and this fear received con- 
firmation. One day Marie was telling her 
that she ought to take wine to strengthen 
her, and added, quite carelessly, Philip 
is coming to his senses. He takes it now 
as he used to, and he needs the strength 
it gives him. I do hope. Faith, you won’t 
trouble him with your strange ideas in re- 


The Test 


59 


gard to this when you come to the table 
again. It is only people of depraved na- 
ture to whom there is danger in drinking 
wine moderately. Philip has too fine blood 
in his veins ever to drink to excess.” 

When Faith again joined the family 
circle, and noticed that the glass was filled 
at his plate, she grew faint and white with 
pain, but Philip said lightly, Some of this 
red wine. Faith darling, would bring the 
color back to your pale cheeks. The phy- 
sician says you ought to take it. I do not 
care a fig for it, but mother wanted me to 
keep her company, and I couldn’t refuse. 
You don’t mind my drinking just a little 
of this pure wine at my own table, do you, 
Faith? There is no possible danger of 
my being tempted to drink more than I 
ought.” 

Fie did not see the mute appeal in her 
eyes, and Faith’s heart was too heavy 
with apprehension and grief to let her lips 


6o 


Faith Hayne, 

utter the words that would have given her 
thoughts expression. It seemed some way 
as if Philip had slipped away from her, 
and that he could not love her, to do the 
thing she so dreaded. Yet it did seem 
like doubting his manliness to think he 
was in danger. 

Philip was sincere in his belief that no 
possible danger lurked in this pleasing 
draught for him. 

Though multitudes have found ruin at 
the end of this fatal path of “moderate 
drinking,” other multitudes enter confi- 
dently upon it, gathering no warning from 
the wrecks that lie around them. 

Business in connection with his father’s 
estate, which had never been fully settled, 
brought new responsibilities and perplex- 
ity to Philip. Naturally averse to cares of 
this kind, they wore upon him, and he 
found the wine which Marie urged him to 
take an agreeable stimulant. 


The Test. 


6i 


One day his labors had been heavier 
than usual, and when he came home Faith 
felt his breath hot and tainted upon her 
cheek, and noticed an unnatural excite- 
ment in his words and looks. 

“Oh! Philip,” she pleaded, “why will 
you have anything to do with this deadly 
poison ? For my sake and Rubie’s, I beg 
you to give it up.” 

“ That is your way of looking at it. 
Faith,” he said, a little impatiently. 
“ Other people regard it differently. It 
helps me through the day, but for your 
sake I will give it up, though there is not 
the slightest danger in its use to me. I 
wish you could trust me in regard to this 
wine question. Faith. I can’t bear to pain 
you, though I know the pain is needless.” 

Philip drank no more wine at table or in 
Faith’s presence, but he found that uncon- 
sciously he had grown to care for it and to 
depend upon the stimulant it furnished. 


62 


Faith Hayne. 


He struggled bravely with the appetite, 
which he felt was debasing his manhood, 
and believed that he had power to keep the 
promise he had made in sincerity to Faith. 

But one day a sudden temptation came 
upon him, and he yielded. 

The reproachful, tender eyes of the wife 
he loved so well rose before him, but he 
silenced his conscience by a resolve that as 
soon as his financial troubles were over he 
would abandon the habit altogether. 

He carefully guarded Faith from the 
knowledge of his broken promise, but now 
and then she detected the odor of wine 
upon his breath, and it filled her with a 
nameless terror. The thought that Philip 
would deceive her was more cruel than the 
apprehension she felt concerning him. 
She stood mute and helpless before this 
appalling suspicion, but it told upon her 
health and spirits, and the physician said 
she must have a change of scene and air. 


The Test, 


63 


At first she refused to listen to Philip’s 
proposition that she and Rubie should 
spend a few weeks at the sea-side. It 
seemed like abandoning her husband to his 
fate ; but one day, looking in her mirror, 
the face reflected there was so thin and 
colorless it made her feel how changed she 
was, and that she must have strength for 
the days to come. So she consented to 
go. 

Philip accompanied them, and the time 
they spent together among the familiar 
scenes of nature seemed to both like a 
fragment of some lost elysium. 

Philip left his wife and child with a new 
and strong resolve ; but after a little he 
missed the restraint of Faith’s presence, 
and again yielded to the old temptation. 

How it came to pass only those who 
are the victims of appetite really know ; 
but one day Philip went to his home with 
unsteady step and maudlin brain, and 


64 


Faith Hayne. 


Marie, looking at his flushed face and list- 
ening to his incoherent words, saw not 
and heard not, as she might have, the fruit 
of her reckless sowing, but to her it was a 
weakness she would not tolerate, even in 
her own son. With fierce words of re- 
proach she bade Philip leave her till he 
should remove the disgrace he had brought 
upon himself. 

Stung by her cruel words, bewildered 
and crushed by his own sense of shame, 
Philip Austin did what proud, sensitive 
men are apt to do under such circum- 
stances — which possibly is the most cow- 
ardly thing of all. 

“ There are swift hours in life, strong, rushing 
hours — 

That do the work of tempests in their might.’* 

Such an hour came to Faith Austin, sit- 
ting on the low sea-beach, with a dull, 
heavy sky overhead, and the tide in its 


The Test 


65 


ebb and flow at her feet. The very at- 
mosphere that day seemed charged with a 
depressing gloom. Faith had sought re- 
lief from her vague unrest by a walk with 
Rubie upon the sea-shore, calling for her 
mail on the way. She longed, and yet 
half feared to receive her accustomed letter 
from Philip. It awaited her, but the 
usually clear, firm hand-writing seemed 
strangely broken and indistinct. She did 
not open it till they had found a quiet 
place on the shore, and Rubie had begun 
to amuse himself with tossing the smooth 
pebbles into the water. 

The thinness of the letter had startled 
her, and its brevity, which she took in at a 
glance, made her faint with apprehension. 

It read : 

Faith Darling : — I have disgraced myself and 
you all. My mother sends me from her in scorn, 
though my passion for drink is the result of her 
counsel. I see now how I wronged you in bring- 
ing you to my home, but I thought it would be 


66 


Faith Hayne, 


different. I can not meet the tender reproach of 
your eyes, though I feel you ivill love and pity 
me still. Your father is a better friend to you 
than I can be. Forget me if you ean. The wine 
you warned me against so faithfully has con- 
quered. God pity us all ! I see only ruin and 
despair in the future, but for your sake and the 
sake of our child I will try to redeem my char- 
acter. Pray for me, Faith ; your prayers are my 
only hope. The remittance will supply your 
need for the present. Kiss Rubie for his 
wretched father. I love you. Faith, as much as 
ever, and it tortures me to think how you will 
suffer when you learn I have fallen so low. 

Good-by. God grant some time, somewhere, 
we may meet again. Philip. 

As Faith read, the words burned them- 
selves into her heart. The leaden sky 
seemed to reel above her. She grew cold 
and numb, as if a mortal chill had struck 
her. The laugh of the child sounded far- 
off and meaningless. It was as if she 
groped in empty darkness. She looked 
away to where a vessel with its white sails 
lay against the horizon, and only one 
thought possessed her — far off, out beyond 


The Test, 


67 


the reach of love and sympathy, Philip 
wandered a hopeless exile. Nor tears, nor 
cries of pain, nor loving entreaty could reach 
him, shut away from her by a cruel fate. 

Suddenly a voice full of tenderness 
spoke her name, and looking up she met her 
father’s pitying, sorrowful face bent over her. 

Philip had written him also, and Jerrold 
hastened to join Faith before the news 
should reach her. 

The little group made a picture full of 
pathos and sorrow — the old man with his 
grave face and white hair tossed in the 
damp sea breeze ; the desolate, stricken 
woman, sitting with her thin hands clasped 
and a dazed look upon her face ; the child 
with shining eyes and glowing cheeks, 
laughing merrily in his careless sport — 
these three against a leaden sky and the 
mournful, restless sea. It was a picture of 
life which no artist’s brush or writer’s pen 
could truthfully paint or portray. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE SEARCH. 

When the first shock of surprise and 
grief was past, there came to Faith a pur- 
pose, settled and absorbing — to search, if 
need be, the world over, till they found 
Philip. 

Her own loss, the great wrong he had 
done her and the child, seemed as nothing 
compared with the terrible fact that her 
husband was an outcast, hurried on, as 
she believed, by his own remorse and 
shame to speedy and certain ruin. She 
felt, too, that, through the strength of her 
love, she could reach and rescue him. 

The world has its philosophy concern- 
ing the weakness of women and their finer 

nature being less fitted to endure the stress 
( 68 ) 


The Search, 


69 


and strain of life ; and yet daily, hourly, 
the tenderest, most fragile of them are 
proving the falsity of such philosophy, 
when it touches the realm of spiritual force. 

Like Faith Austin, many and many a 
woman rises up from the very gates of 
death to grapple heroically with an over- 
whelming disaster. 

We must find him,’' she said to Jer- 
rold; “he will be forever lost if we desert 
him now. It is so much to ask of you 
who have already suffered so for my sake, 
but it is our only hope of saving Philip.” 

Jerrold looked into the white, solemn 
face and sad, tender eyes of his child, and, 
though his heart shared none of her hope, 
but was full of gloomy misgivings, he could 
refuse her nothing. 

What need to tell of the weary search, 
the fruitless inquiry, the baffled effort, the 
faint hope raised oftentimes, only to be 
quenched in a deeper despair. 


70 


Faith Hayne, 


Now and then people stopped in the 
busy street to look for a moment at the 
questioning face and hungry eyes of a frail 
young woman and a white-haired man 
bent with age. “What an odd couple?” 
— that was all, or perchance, a thought of 
pity and wonder. 

At length they found a clue to Philip. 
He had been seen in one of our large cit- 
ies that gather into their swarming masses 
so many of the reckless and wretched. 

Jerrold and Faith took up their abode 
in this city, and watched and waited with 
a new glimmer of hope. Their travel and 
search told heavily upon Jerrold’s slender 
means, and, for the first time in her life. 
Faith began to realize that to the poor the 
price of mere existence is often constant, 
taxing toil. 

She could not help seeing what awaited 
them in the future and the duty laid upon 
her to keep her father, at least, from want 


The Search, 


71 


The only resort for women like her un- 
der such circumstances is to plain sewing, 
and Hood’s pathetic little song repeats it- 
self in the weary work of multitudes whose 
lives have been darkened by the dreary 
shadow of intemperance. 

In a small, close room, whose only out- 
look was upon ugly back-yards and bare, 
dingy walls, one Saturday afternoon found 
Faith Austin working with straining nerves 
on the tardy garments that seemed never 
to come to an end. Heavy lines crossed 
the pale face, and the slender fingers that 
went back and forth with a nervous energy 
were thin and colorless. 

Not only was labor of this kind weari- 
some to Faith, but every moment taken 
from her search for Philip was a regret. 

She looked out beyond the shadow of 
the tall houses to where the sunshine lay 
warm and bright, and felt someway that 
if she could be out in it, there might come 


72 


Faith Hayne, 

a chance meeting. It was only a faint 
hope, that had again and again been dis- 
appointed, but the fact that she was shut 
away from its possible realization brought 
an agitating unrest. The end of the week 
was drawing near, and the work that she 
had on hand must be finished. She had 
not even a moment to spare for Ruble, and 
his childish prattle and frequent question- 
ing annoyed and troubled her. 

On the Isles of Shoals grows a slender, 
waif-like flower that shuts itself up close at 
the slightest premonition of a coming 
storm. The people who understand this 
often catch the first intimation of a change 
in the weather by the closed petals of this 
sensitive little blossom while yet the sky is 
cloudless. So there are children of such 
delicate sensibility that they are uncon- 
sciously affected, even by the feelings of 
older people. Ruble Austin was one of 
these. His mother s silent, pre-occupied 


The Search, 


73 


air troubled him. He grew restless and 
tired of his play. He came close to his 
mother and laid the bright head on her 
arm ; but this hindered the weary woman, 
who had no time to spend in caresses, even 
for the child she loved so well, and she 
said, with an impatient sigh : 

Do go away, Rubie, and take care of 
yourself; I never shall get my work done 
if you bother me. Put on your hat and go 
out doors, but don’t go far away.” 

The child needed no second bidding, 
and in a moment the little feet were patter- 
ing down the stairs, out into the mellow 
sunlight that brightened all the great city. 
It was so nice to be in the busy sunny 
street, that he forgot all about his mother’s 
injunction, '‘not to go far,” and wandered 
on till a bright toy in a shop-window lured 
him into a crowded crossing. 

There was a warning call to a careless 
driver, but it came too late. One moment 


74 Faith Hayne, 

the sunshine fell over him, as he stood 
hesitating with shining eyes and glowing 
cheeks, the bright hair blown into a mass 
of tangled floss about the pretty face — the 
next there was a childish cry of fright and 
pain. The busy crowd paused in its hurry 
and jostle till a burly policeman lifted the 
limp, mangled little form tenderly into his 
strong arms and carried him home to his 
mother. 

The doctor said Rubie might live till 
morning, and so, white and still and stony. 
Faith Austin watched the faint pulse beat- 
ing itself out. The neighbors said, How 
strange it was for her to be so quiet and 
make no fuss, no more than if nothing had 
happened.” They did not discern more 
than many another, that it is only in the 
shallows of grief that people cry out and 
make a noise. In the deep sea there is 
the stillness of the death struggle. 

In the small hours the little white face 


The Search, 


75 

grew troubled, the pale lips moved and 
said, brokenly: 

I — will — be — good ; 1 — won’t — 

bother — you, — mamma.” 

With fiercer pain, Faith could only hold 
him closer. But at daybreak there came 
a change. The blue eyes opened wide 
with a kind of gentle surprise. In place 
of the troubled look came one of tender 
rapture, seen only in the faces of the dy- 
ing, and seeing which, no one can doubt 
concerning the after-glory. There was a 
faint sigh, and Faith knew the sweet lips 
that of late she had not found time to kiss 
would never speak to her again. Oh, ye 
who paint sorrow with fancy brushes, find 
if ye can colors dark enough to show the 
anguish of a mother whose last word to 
her dead child was an impatient one. 

Whatever drops out of life, the dull 
round of common care goes on. 

Again it is Saturday. The sewing is 


76 Faith Hayne, 

done for the week. There is less to do 
now. Jerrold has not yet come home. 
Faith Austin sits alone in the dreary twi- 
light, crushed and desolate. 

The rain beats dismally against the win- 
dow ; she thinks with a shiver how it 
falls on a little grave, far out beyond the 
city lights, and it seems as if Rubie must 
be cold and afraid. 

At length, from sheer exhaustion and 
the stillness, she sleeps and dreams. 
Jacob did but dream, and yet heaven came 
down to meet him, and so it came to this 
sorrowing woman. 

Out of a flood of fairest light, a childish 
form descended, with the sweet face and 
tender eyes and shining hair of her own 
Rubie — his in very deed, only as much 
more beautiful as sunlight is than day- 
light. 

Closer and closer came the radiant pres- 
ence, and her soul thrilled with an ecstasy 


The Search, 


77 


of joy, as the child she had yearned for 
through all the dreary day nestled in her 
bosom, warm and bright with happy life. 
Even in her dream she felt it was the rap- 
ture of endless and shadowless possession, 
which only the eternal and heavenly can 
bring. 

It was only a dream, but the dreamer 
awoke to a newness of life because of it, 
and the blessed tears fell as the rain on 
the hard, frozen earth in the spring time. 

It was only a dream, but in the strength 
of it Faith Austin went many a day, not 
bowed and broken, but sustained and com- 
forted with a tender hope. 

The people who lived about her and 
with whom she had been brought in con- 
tact by the sudden death of her child, knew 
not and guessed not the secret of her new 
courage and peace ; they gave their 
worldly solution — She had common 
sense enough to see that the child was 


78 Faith Hayne. 

better off, and she had less to worry 
about.” 

So we judge oftentimes, because we see 
only the outside, which is never the real 
side of life. We see the lonely wanderer 
overborne and faint, the darkness and the 
stony pillow, but the golden ladders set 
up between earth and heaven, on which 
the angels are continually ascending and 
descending, are hid from mortal sight. 

None the less the heavenly ministries 
go on, making a Bethel of many a lonely 
attic, and uplifting and comforting multi- 
tudes of despairing souls. 

That God’s angels are not oftener spir- 
itually discerned is no fault of theirs. Some 
time it may be, in the hereafter, we shall 
learn that “they were dumb because we 
were deaf.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE WRONG. 

There are high tides of feeling and emo- 
tion which carry the soul onward and up- 
ward, so that even the keenest sorrow and 
fiercest pain seem conquered through the 
spiritual exultation of the hour. But as in 
the phenomena of nature, when the ebb 
of waters follows their flow, so oftentimes 
these receding waves leave the soul like 
some bare, unsightly sea-marsh. 

In the long, dull weeks that followed 
the death of her child. Faith never quite 
lost the inspiration of her dream, and ever 
she was comforted by the assurance it had 
brought of Rubie’s safety and happiness. 
Yet her own dreary life seemed doubly 
desolate at times, and there came moments 

(79) 


8o 


Faith Hayne, 


of intense remorse, when she recalled the 
impatient words she had spoken to him. 
Then followed a reproachful pity, such as 
we cherish only toward the dead, who 
have passed beyond the reach of our re- 
pentance or our tenderness. 

Another feeling, which she could not 
have put in words, haunted her ; a feeling 
which grew and deepened as she became 
more familiar with the misery and desola- 
tion which seemed to revel in those dark 
haunts, where the demon that had blighted 
her life held sway. 

One evening they wandered into a fash- 
ionable street and stopped before a bril- 
liantly lighted saloon — not that by name ; 
this palatial resort bore no such stigma. 

The light from costly chandeliers fell on 
flowers, and fountains, and pictures ; on 
fair, careless women, and strong, gay- 
hearted men. 

Exquisite music now and then broke upon 


The Wrong, 


8i 


the air, so modulated as scarcely to inter- 
rupt the merry company, that drank and 
laughed and chatted, and seemed most in- 
nocent and happy. 

Had they chanced to look outside, a 
white, sorrowful face, and sad, pleading 
eyes might have checked their mirth for 
a moment, but no such vision disturbed 
them. 

We might find Philip in some such 
place as this,'’ Jerrold said; '‘he would 
not take naturally to the common saloons.” 

"It is so beautiful!” Faith spoke 
dreamily as if her thoughts were far away. 
" I wish we could find Philip in a place like 
this.” 

“ Poor child ! ” the old man said, pity- 
ingly, as he took the cold, little hand in 
his and drew her away from the dazzling 
scene. 

" It is in just such places as this that 
men like Philip are ruined.” 


82 Faith Hayne. 

“ It seems different from those awful 
saloons where the men and women are so 
frightful,” Faith interrupted. 

“ The difference is only in seeming. 
This, too, is the open door-way to death, 
all the same, and the poor wretches we 
loathe many and many of them began to 
drink in these gilded hells.” Jerrold spoke 
fiercely. It is this social, genteel drink- 
ing that does the mischief If there were 
no decent places where a man could learn 
to love this deadly draught, there would 
be few underground dens of infamy, few 
beastly drunkards. Nature and art are 
used to cover the deformity of this ghastly 
evil ; and Christian people, who suffer 
this fatal Upas tree to fasten its ugly roots 
upon society, are responsible for its hid- 
eous fruit of suffering and ruin and death. 
God’s judgment will come sooner or later 
for such a wrong against humanity. 

But why do I vex you with my bitter 


The Wrong, 


83 


words, Faith darling. You are helpless, 
.and can but suffer. I, too, am powerless 
to stay this mocking scourge that has 
wrought the destruction of my happiness 
and yours.*' 

“ And is there no help for this ? ” Faith 
asked, like a frightened child in the dark. 

Are there no good, kind-hearted people 
who have power and influence and money ? 
Must this go on forever ? ” 

'' No, not forever, thank God ! ’* Jerrold 
answered, with a ring of cheer in his voice. 
'' The Infinite Father does not forget the 
wronged and helpless, though his children 
may. 

' If thou seest the oppression of the 
poor, and violent perverting of judgment 
and justice in a province, marvel not at the 
matter: for He that is higher than the 
highest regardeth ; and there be higher 
than they.* 

“ These are God’s own words, my child. 


84 


Faith Hayne. 

From His patience with evil we learn how 
certain and complete will be its overthrow.” 

Faith did not fully comprehend the 
meaning of Jerrold’s words, but they gave 
shape to the vague thoughts that had been 
growing of late. There was a wrong some- 
where. 

She recalled the senseless, blear-eyed 
men, who had filled her with a sickening 
dread lest she should find Philip like one 
of them ; the gaunt, wretched women, the 
sad, hungry-looking children, and, saddest 
of all, her own Ruble, the fair face marred 
with the trample of horses’ hoofs, and the 
crimson stain of blood upon his golden 
hair. 

Was not some one to blame for all 
this ? God, who loves everybody, never 
meant it should be so.” 

Faith Austin was no philanthropist — no 
philosoper ; she only half understood this 
conviction which every sensitive soul feels 


85 


The Wrong 

towards injustice and wrong. She did not 
know that it was akin to that which has 
moved noble, true-hearted men and women 
of all ages, whether themselves sufferers 
or not, to undertake the redress and aboli- 
tion of wrong. 

Far back in the thirteenth century there 
was a time of romance and beauty, called 
the age of chivalry, when brave knights 
went forth to rescue and help the oppressed 
and unfortunate. Like a leaf of gold its 
story lies between the dark pages of his- 
tory, which tell of cruel wars and selfish 
strifes. 

The true spirit of chivalry has never 
wholly died out, and in these latter days it re- 
vives again. Touched and purified by the 
living breath of Christianity, it manifests it- 
self in practical efforts for humanity and the 
right. That no more are moved by this 
grand impulse born of loyalty to God and 
truth, is the dreariest fact of all. And in 


86 


Faith Hayne, 

nothing is this more to be regretted than in 
its relation to social and national evils. 

Ruble Austin was but one of a multitude 
of innocent children who are yearly sacri- 
ficed to this Moloch of strong drink. Not 
indeed do all like him find death ; that 
would be a happy release to many, but 
thousands, yea, tens of thousands are suf- 
fering a sadder fate, in homes where child- 
hood is dwarfed, and blighted, and robbed 
of its heritage. 

Now and then some cruel tragedy is 
made known and startles the public — pos- 
sibly raises the question, Who is respon- 
sible ? ” But it is only a momentary inquiry, 
and the ruffled surface of life grows smooth 
again. The silent, never-ending drama of 
want and woe goes on unheeded. 

When I think of this sad procession, 
ever keeping its weary march through this 
bright, glad world, the words which Mrs. 
Browning laid upon the poor factory chil- 


87 


The Wrong, 

dren across the water, seem to be taken up 
and repeated by a pitiful host in our own 
fair, Christian America. 

How long,” they say, ‘‘ how long, O cruel 
nation. 

Will you stand, to move the world on a child’s 
heart, — 

Stifle down with mailed heel its palpitation, 

And tread onward to your throne amid the 
mart ? 

Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper, 

And your purple shows your path ; 

But the child’s sob in the silence curses deeper 
Than the strong man in his wrath.” 

God grant that we may heed this sor- 
rowful miserere surging over our land, lest 
He who turns never a deaf ear to the cry 
of helpless innocence, come in swift judg- 
ment and avenge the wrongs of His little 
ones. 

Looking at this great evil of intemper- 
ance from a human standpoint, the day of 
deliverance seems far off. It is entrenched 
in the strongholds of avarice and appetite. 


88 


Faith Hayne, 

It is encouraged by the indifference of 
many good people. It yields a revenue to 
the government. All these tend to make 
it strong. 

But looking at it in the light of con- 
science, of history, and individual experi- 
ence, we feel that the end draweth nigh. 
No fact has been more clearly demon- 
strated through all the ages than this : 
That when a gigantic wrong fastens itself 
upon a people, it either is met and over- 
come, or it brings disaster and ruin. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A DISCUSSION. 

One day, during a long ride across the 
city, Jerrold chanced to sit near two gen- 
tlemen engaged in an animated discussion, 
using the high pitch of voice so frequently 
and often unconsciously taken by profes- 
sional people when conversing in public. 

He could not well help hearing what 
they said, and though little interested in 
the main question, certain sentences 
dropped, and the information they embod- 
ied were of great import to him. 

The gentlemen were ministers, having 
under their charge large and flourishing 
parishes in the city. They had been edu- 
cated in the same theological seminary, 

(89) 


90 


Faith Hayne, 


both graduated with honors, and both 
received early and desirable calls ; but 
here the similarity of experience ceased. 

Rev. Arthur Hamilton’s charge was one 
of the largest, most influential, and harmo- 
nious in the community. It had become 
such chiefly through his talent and eflbrt. 
It was not in the least singular that he and 
his people should have a mutual and com- 
placent admiration one for the other. 
Their church edifice was the finest in the 
city ; their organ the most expensive ; 
their choir without equal. A stranger, 
dropping into their midst, would have seen 
at a glance, and even felt instinctively, that 
preacher, people, and house of worship 
were in complete harmony. 

Neither was the Rev. Arthur Hamilton 
unmindful of his duty to the poor classes of 
society. Over the door of his church he 
had inscribed an invitation and welcome to 
all. Ample provisions were made for free 


A Discussion, 


91 


sittings. He frequently exhorted his con- 
gregation to exercise greater zeal in their 
efforts to reach the ignorant and neglected. 
But notwithstanding all this, he seldom had 
the inspiration of seeing such in his audi- 
ence, and never for any length of time. He 
sometimes wondered at the success in this 
particular of his brother minister, the Rev. 
Edward Walker. 

His church was large and plain and 
substantial. It seemed naturally to draw 
through its hospitable doors the poor and 
friendless, and coming once, though there 
was no fine music and nothing grand or 
handsome, they felt the warm, kindly at- 
mosphere of Christ-like sympathy and 
love dispelling their gloomy discontent 
and doubt. 

They came again and again for the 
very comfort and help they got. 

This church rarely attracted attention 
by any novel or unusual demonstration or 


92 


Faith Hayne, 


achievement, but it enjoyed a constant re- 
vival, and the healthful, steady, and ever- 
broadening influence that went out from it 
was felt far and wide. 

These two friends had just come from 
the weekly gathering of the ministers of 
their denomination, and they continued 
the discussion which had occupied the 
morning. It had been unusually spirited, 
owing, no doubt, to the fact that the 
subject-matter had involved the much- 
vexed question of woman’s work in the 
church, and her right to speak in public, 
especially from the pulpit. 

The Rev. Mr. Hamilton naturally sym- 
pathized with the conservatives, and the 
Rev. Mr. Walker with the more radical. 

As the discussion drew to a close the 
latter said: '‘Before we part let me tell 
you what has influenced me more than 
anything else. Some day, if you will drop 
into No. — Street you will see 


A Discussion, 


93 


what a little company of earnest Christian 
women are doing for our city and for the 
country. Some of these belong to my 
church. I am proud of them. Their 
families are well cared for, their homes 
a very Bethany, where I go when I want 
to spend an hour of social refreshing. 
But they remember the words of Christ 
to the Scribes and Pharisees, ‘ These 
ought ye to have done, and not to leave 
the other undone.’ Somewhat they do 
give up, but it comes in the line of need- 
less luxury and trivial pleasure. 

I can’t help thinking that while we 
who claim to have a special and exclusive 
anointing from the Lord are wrangling 
over the question of what is proper and 
right for women to do, they are quietly 
solving it in the only practical way, i, e., 
by successful experiment. They are help- 
ing to solve another question of great 
moment to us as a nation — how we shall 


94 


Faith Hayne, 


reach and save the poor and the wretched 
who are drifting hither and thither, with- 
out hope and without God in the world. 

‘'We hear much in these perilous days 
of the necessity of increasing our standing 
army, of enforcing quiet and obedience to 
law and order by the free use of ‘ grape- 
shot and canister but womanly intuition 
sees a vaster power in the moral bayonets 
which Christian love aims, not at the per- 
sons, but at the hearts of those who are 
truly a terror to any people. 

" How much has been done through the 
Women’s Christian Temperance Union to 
save the country from the ' dangerous 
classes’ will be known only when the 
secret things are brought to light ; but 
this much is certain, hundreds of despair- 
ing souls through their Gospel meetings 
have been redeemed from the bondage of 
strong drink. The large number of in- 
temperate men and women who have been 


A Discussion. 


95 


brought to a knowledge of the truth as it is 
in Jesus, and through His grace changed to 
loyal citizens and made a power for good, 
should be argument strong enough to lead 
all of us who love humanity and the peace 
and prosperity of our land to ponder well 
the question whether our women may not 
have come to the kingdom of new and 
sacred privileges for such a time as this. 
But I have with me a simple experience 
of one member of our church. I shall be 
glad to loan you the paper. I know it is 
all true, and that the half has not been 
told. It think it will interest you. Good- 
by, and may the Spirit guide us into all 
truth." 

The two parted. If their conversation 
served no other purpose, it brought a ray 
of light to Jerrold. Hundreds of de- 
spairing souls, through their Gospel meet- 
ings, have bee-n redeemed from the bond- 
age of strong drink.” These words seemed 


96 


Faith Hayne, 


to open a door out of the heavy darkness 
that had settled down over him of late. 
He would find the place on the morrow, 
and help might be at hand. 

Jerrold went home with a lighter heart 
than he had carried for many a day. Was 
it a prophecy for goo^, or only a delusive 
fancy ? 


CHAPTER IX. 


ONLY A TRAMP. 

Mr. Hamilton walked slowly after he 
left his friend. Something, he coqld 
hardly have told what, troubled him. 
He could not be in the wrong about 
this matter. When he first came to his 
church a few of the more devout women 
had now and then ventured to repeat a 
passage of Scripture or start a hymn in 
the prayer-meeting ; but he had in a quiet 
and dignified manner discouraged this, and 
for a long time no such impropriety had 
occurred, not even in the long pauses that 
sometimes gave him annoyance and solici- 
tude. He could not help admitting this 
morning, as he pondered the matter, that 

(97) 


9 8 Faith Hayne, 

the ladies of his charge were somewhat 
lacking in spirituality ; in fact, that there 
had been a change in this respect since 
his coming among them, and not for the 
better. For the first time came a vexing 
suspicion that he might have made a mis- 
take. 

There can scarcely be a more unhappy 
feeling than that which comes along with 
the fear that we may have been pursuing 
with energy and tenacity a false or foolish 
theory. 

But before these thoughts had time to 
become clear and settled, Mr. Hamilton 
had reached his home. The quiet of his 
cool, shady study was doubly refreshing 
to him after the noise and dust of the 
street, and when made comfortable by 
dressing-gown and slippers, he felt more 
at ease mentally. He took from his well- 
filled shelves the standard works on the 
matter under discussion, and as he read 


Only a Tramp, 


99 


felt quite reassured and strongly inclined 
to censure himself for his vacillation. 

What could he do to avert the threat- 
ened danger and to keep his brethren 
from being snared in this delusive error? 
He had already prepared several news- 
paper articles upon the subject, which had 
been highly commended. He had read 
a profound and lengthy essay on ‘^The 
Proper Sphere of Woman,” at an import- 
ant ministerial gathering, which contained 
such powerful arguments that “ no un- 
prejudiced mind could fail to be con- 
vinced.” 

Surely there was nothing more that he 
could do. Just then he chanced to think 
of the paper his friend had given him. As 
it wanted a few minutes of his dinner-hour, 
he could run it over without loss of valu- 
able time. It was a simple incident from 
real life, entitled 


lOO 


Faith Hayne, 


*'ONLY A TRAMP.” 

So Bridget announced one cold, stormy 
morning last winter. The fire burned 
cheerily in my open grate. I was thor- 
oughly comfortable, lounging over a new 
magazine the postman had just brought. 

Tell him we’ve nothing for him,” I an- 
swered, half-mechanically and a little impa- 
tient at being interrupted by so small a 
matter. 

Tramps were such frequent callers I had 
grown quite indifferent to them, and took 
it for granted that they were all worthless 
vagabonds — too lazy to earn an honest 
living, and that, helping them, would only 
encourage idleness and beggary. 

As my eyes went back to my book, they 
took in the dreariness of the winter storm, 
driving the sleet in wild gusts against the 
window. Something — the contrast, it may 
be, in the chill prospect without and the 


lOI 


Only a Tramp. 

warmth and comfort within — brought to me 
a painful sense of what a forlorn thing it was 
to be out begging on such a dismal morn- 
ing. 

I threw aside my magazine and went 
into the kitchen. Bridget had just shut the 
door upon the man. As I opened it a 
blinding whirl almost took away my 
breath. 

Come in and I’ll give you something 
to eat,” I said when I could speak. 

The man was a genuine tramp, — a trifle 
fiercer-looking than the guild are apt to 
be, with a sullen expression on his set, 
hard features. The snow and sleet hung 
in his shaggy hair, and the great, rough 
hands were purple with cold. 

I gave him a seat by the fire, set the 
coffee-pot on the stove, and with my own 
hands prepared him a warm breakfast. 
While he was eating I left him alone and 
went up-stairs to look for some clothing 


102 Faith Hayne. 

that I had heard Fred say he shouldn’t 
wear any more. 

It did occur to me he might steal the 
silver, but Bridget was busy with the 
chamber-work, and she never liked to be 
hindered. Someway I felt like trusting 
the man though he was so bad-looking. 

The heavy brows relaxed a little as I 
gave him the garments, and he thanked 
me for them and the breakfast. 

'‘Ye’ll be wantin’ the snow shovelled 
when the blow’s over, an’ I’ll come ’round 
an’ do it for yer, ma’am, if ye’d like to hev 
me.” 

“ We should,” I answered, “ if you can 
get ’round before any one else comes 
along.” 

He went out into the storm and I went 
back to my magazine, but the article in 
which I had been so much interested had 
lost its relish, and along with the reading 
I fell into a 'kind of gloomy speculation as 


Only a Tramp, 103 

to the wherefore of life in general and 
of tramps in particular. 

I may as well tell you that for some 
years past I have been troubled with nerv- 
ous depression, arising partly from my deli- 
cate health and partly from my manner of 
living. You will think it strange that, 
with my pleasant home and kind husband, 
I have not always been a happy woman. 
I came from a large family, and we were 
always busy and lively. I missed the com- 
panionship and bustle that always comes 
along with a houseful when I came to set- 
tle down with only my husband and my- 
self and a girl to do my work. There 
were plenty of things I might have been 
interested in, but I gradually fell into the 
way of not caring for anything outside of 
a certain narrow limit. 

Fred was not a Christian, though he 
had the greatest respect for religion, and 
was very thoughtful of my wishes in re- 


104 Faith Hayne, 

gard to all matters pertaining to it. Of 
course, this was a constant source of anx- 
iety to me, but I see now how foolish I 
was in my manner of expressing it. In- 
stead of trying to win him by showing the 
real brightness and beauty the Christian 
faith gives to every-day life, I wore a sad 
face whenever I spoke to him upon the 
subject, and he often came home and found 
me in tears, with no reason, save that I 
was troubled and unhappy. I wonder 
now that he didn’t come to hate religion, 
associating it as he must with my gloom 
and worry. 

As time went on my seasons of depres- 
sion grew more frequent, and my health 
really began to give way. Last fall Fred 
persuaded me to go home for a visit, hop- 
ing the change would benefit me. At 
first it was so delightful being in the dear 
old place once more and having my friends 
all about me, that I improved greatly ; but 


105 


Only a Tramp, 

very soon I began to be troubled con- 
stantly about Fred and his staying at home 
alone, though he wrote the most cheerful 
letters. One day I suddenly made up my 
mind to come home. I came back to Fred 
hardly better than when I left. What I 
wanted was soul-healing, and that could 
not be found by change of scene. 

I fancied that my life was useless and 
that I had no influence over my husband. 
Sometimes the terrible thought would 
come that he might be better without me. 
Of course, ill-health had something to do 
with such fancies, just as they, in a meas- 
ure, were the cause of that ; but I believe 
in reality it was spiritual ennui that was 
sapping the health of body and soul. My 
religion was not a motive power, and my 
life was purposeless and meagre in conse- 
quence. 

You are v^ondering what all this has to 
do with '‘my tramp,” as I have always 


io6 Faith Hayne, 

called him. Much every way, as I shall 
show you if you have the patience to wait. 

I told my husband about him when he 
came home, and how seeing him had given 
me '' the blues.” 

“Your 'blues’ won’t rid the country of 
tramps; if they would, the government 
would pay you liberally for indulging in 
them,” Fred said, cheerily. 

“ He has promised to come around and 
clear the sidewalk when the storm is 
over.” 

Fred laughed. 

“ He’ll be a model tramp if he keeps 
his word. Who ever knew one of that 
sort of fellows to pay for favors received 
in work after he had once got out of sight ? 
You’ll see this trusty knight of the shovel 
to-morrow morning ' in a horn,’ as the 
boys say. But don’t fret about it, puss. 
These poor fellows have hard times 
enough in such weather as this, anyway ; 


Only a Tramp, 107 

but, in nine c^ses out of ten, it s their own 
fault” 

I had very little faith in the man s word, 
but since I had seemed to give him the 
credit of honesty, I hoped he would prove 
my judgment correct 


CHAPTER X. 


THE SEQUEL. 

Very early the next morning I heard 
the scrape of a shovel on the sidewalk, 
and, looking out, saw my veritable tramp 
hard at work. With a little flutter of 
triumph I called Fred to see. 

“Are you sure he is the same one?” 
he asked, with provoking incredulity. 

“Sure? Of course I am sure,” I an- 
swered warmly. 

“ Oh, well, he wants some more of your 
good coffee and doughnuts. Tramps, like 
the rest of us men, appreciate a first-class 
breakfast. But he has kept his word, and 
does his work well. Fll pay him double 

for it, and that will keep the ‘ blues ’ away 
(io8) 


The Sequel, 109 

— for how long, Tillie? ” Fred said lightly, 
as he tossed the money into my lap. 

I gave the man another breakfast, 
praised his work, and paid him. The dark 
face brightened as he took the money. 

“ I hain’t turned the like o’ this for a 
long spell, ma’am. Thank ye fer’t.” 

One day, nearly six weeks after this, 
Bridget came to say that a man wanted to 
see me. When I went to the door I saw 
standing there, a rough, clean-looking 
man, very plainly but neatly dressed. 

“ I ’spose ye don’t know who I be,” he 
said, in answer to my look of inquiry. 
‘‘ I’m the feller ye give a warm breakfast 
to nigh six weeks ago, one blowy mornin’. 
I shoveled yer sidewalk, an’ ye paid me 
well fer’t too.” 

It slowly dawned upon me that ‘^my 
tramp ” had turned up again, but, like Rip 
Van Winkle, so changed no one would 
recognize him. 


no 


Faith Hayne. 


I asked him in, puzzled as to the proper 
way of treating him under this new condi- 
tion of things. 

He relieved me by saying, “ Do ye mind 
my tellin’ ye how it all come round? I’d 
like ter, seein’ it war yer kindness that put 
it inter my head ter be better and try to 
do somethin’ for myself. I ain’t goin’ to 
keep back nothin’,” he went on to say, 
when I had assured him of my desire to 
hear his story, '' so I may as well tell ye 
I had my mind made up to lay my 
hands on ter anything that come handy 
if I got inter yer house that mornin’ ye 
gave me the breakfast. I came pretty 
nigh stealin’ yer spoons while ye were 
gone upstairs, but somethin’ sez ter me, 
‘ She’s gone off an’ not left nobody ter 
watch ye, an’ ’tis mighty mean ter take 
advantage o’ that’ ; so I kept my hands 
off o’ things. I come back to shovel the 
snow mostly fer the breakfast, an’ then 


The Sequel, iii 

I wanted ter let ye know I’d kep’ my 
word.” 

“ And you used the money I paid you 
to help start in a better way ? ” I asked 
brightly, interrupting him. 

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry to say I didn’t. 
I meant ter, and kep’ thinkin’ how I’d get 
a decent place ter sleep in an’ look out fer 
jobs, an’ try ter be sich a feller as folks 
could trust ; it seemed so kinder nice. 
But I couldn’t find no place whar thar 
warn’t the smell o’ whisky, an’ one night 
I come in a-cold an’ shaky, an’ the man as 
kep’ the place, he give me a drink ’ter 
warm me up, he sed, an’ then I wanted 
more, an’ kep’ drinkin’ and drinkin’ till my 
money war all gone an’ my brains too, an’ 
I got noisy, I s’pose, and the man turned 
me out o’ doors inter the street, an’ I lay 
thar all night. It’s only the mercy o’ God 
kep’ me from freezin’. My feet an’ hands, 
war pretty nigh froze, an’ when I come ter 


I 12 


Faith Hayne, 

myself I didn’t know no place whar I 
could go — my money all gone, an’ nobody 
in the world ter help me. As I was 
draggin’ long the street I see the sign the 
temp’rance wimmen hev hung out afore 
the place whar they hold their meetin’, an’ 
I thinks mebby I’ll find another kind lady 
in thar ; so I stumbled in. They give me 
a ticket fer a meal, an’ a place ter sleep, 
an’ asked me to come again to the meetin’.” 

“ And they have taken care of you and 
dressed you up so nicely ? ” I interrupted 
again. 

“No, ma’am, but they done somethin’ 
better’n that; they put me in a way ter 
take care o’ myself. They got me to sign 
the pledge, an’ tole me o’ Him as could 
help me to keep it. I niver knowed 
nothin’ ter speak on ’bout the Bible an’ 
Jesus Christ, an’ at first I couldn’t b’lieve 
’bout it’s bein’ all fer me; but I kep’ goin’ 
ter the meetings, an’ the wimmen talked 


The S^queL 


113 


so kind an’ plain, and made it seem so 
that the Lord he cares fer sich good-fer- 
nothin’ fellers as me. An, now Tm holdin’ 
on ter him with all my might, an’ I know 
I won’t drink no more long’s I do that. I 
know ye’d like the meetins’, an’ I come 
back to tell ye ’bout ’em, an’ what they’ve 
done fer me. P’raps ye’d go to them some 
time. I heerd the ladies say they did ’em 
good, too.” 

The idea of this poor tramp coming to 
invite me to go to meeting amused me 
greatly. I laughed and told him I would 
think about it. After the man was gone 
I found myself wondering at the great 
change that had come to him, and the 
reality and help his religion was to him. 

One day, not long after this, I did go to 
the meeting, more out of curiosity than any- 
thing else, I suppose. At first it seemed 
very strange, and quite contrary to my ideas 
of propriety, for women to be conducting 


Faith Hayne, 


114 

a meeting in public. But before it was over 
I became so much interested that I quite 
forgot the singularity of the thing. I went 
again and again, and began to have a new 
sense of Christian faith and hope. 

“ My tramp ” was always at the meeting, 
when he could get away from his work — 
for he had steady employment then, and 
has had it ever since — and he usually 
brought some poor fellow with him that 
he had picked up in the street or met in 
his work. He used often to ask me to 
talk to those men. At first I could not 
think of a word to say, but after awhile I 
found it was a good way to read something 
out of the Bible to them, and that they al- 
ways seemed glad to listen ; and I, too, 
was helped and strengthened by what I 
read. The Bible became a new book to 
me, and my Christian faith something 
tangible that made all my life better and 
brighter. 


The Sequel. 


115 


My husband noticed the change, and 
encouraged my going. After a time he 
began to attend the evening meetings 
with me, and there the real witness of 
Christ’s power to save touched his heart, 
and he, too, became a Christian. Now 
there is no place so dear to us both as 
these temperance prayer-meetings. They 
seem nearer heaven than any other 
place ; it may be because we are not sim- 
ply seeking good for ourselves, but for 
others, and those others the poor and 
wretched and friendless. 

Do you wonder that I am an enthusiast 
in this work, and that my conservative 
friends think me beside myself? One of 
them met me on the street the other day 
and asked me how I found time to go to 
so many meetings and do so much be- 
nevolent work ” ? I told her I had a few 
less ruffles on my dresses, and that I didn’t 
spenjd hours puzzling over a garment, try- 


1 1 6 Faith Hayne. 

ing to decide how it should be made. I 
think my house and my husband are as 
well cared for as ever, but I don’t have 
time now for the blues,” or to spend cry- 
ing over a new bonnet, if it don’t just suit 
me. I have given up some things, but 
they are all those that I can do without, and 
the infinite gain that has come to me in 
improved health and spirits, in my hus- 
band’s conversion, and his sympathy and 
help in every good work, would more 
than recompense any self-denial, however 
great. Then there is the sweetest satis- 
faction of all, that my life is of some use, 
and that I can help others who stand in 
sore need of it. When I think how my 
life has been brightened, and that I have 
my husband not only for time, but for a 
long, blessed eternity beside, and that it 
all came about through a poor forlorn 
tramp, I can’t help having a kindly feeling 
toward the whole class, though they 


The Sequel, 1 1 7 

are the “ great unwashed,” whom the 
world despises and dreads. 

When I was first asked to lead the tem- 
perance meeting I thought I never could ; 
but it seemed so ungrateful, after I had re- 
ceived so much, not to be willing to try, 
even though I utterly failed, that I con- 
sented. I don’t think I was very edify- 
ing, but it did me good, and every time 
that I attempt it now, I feel stronger and 
better for the effort. That is a real sacrifice 
for me, but I begin to understand the 
hundred fold ” that comes along with it. 

Was the Rev. Mr. Hamilton convinced ? 
By no means. Had hundreds of souls 
risen from their loathsome graves of sin 
and suffering and degradation, and stood 
before him clean and white and saved, he 
might still have considered the “ eternal 
fitness of things,” and repeated, maybe, 
the words of the old sailor when told that 


ii8 Faith Hayne. 

a ship’s crew had been brought safely to 
land by the captain’s wife after his death, 
‘‘ Better that every soul had gone to the 
bottom than for one woman to step out of 
her sphere.” 


CHAPTER XL 


THE DEEPENING SHADOWS LIGHTENED. 

Slowly and wearily the weeks dragged 
along to these two, waiting and watching, 
with alternations, between hope and fear. 

It is only after a desperate struggle that 
a brave, young heart yields to the gloom 
of despair and doubt. With a grand hero- 
ism Faith Austin had met the crushing sor- 
row, and through the sad months that now 
gathered into years she had kept a courage 
which surprised herself But repeated dis- 
appointment, the strain upon her phys- 
ical strength by the sewing she was com- 
pelled to do, and which every week be- 
came more and more taxing to her, began 
to show their effects upon health and 

(119) 


120 


Faith Hayne, 

spirits. She looked upon the women she 
often met, and who seemed never to have 
known any other kind of life, with a shud- 
dering pity. What meaning was there in 
life to them ? what but blank wretchedness ? 
Sometimes Jerrold came home panting with 
exhaustion, and as she saw how feeble he 
had grown, she felt, with a cold chill at her 
heart, that the time might come when she 
should be quite alone in the great world, 
without human friend or helper. When 
Faith thought of her father s young life 
blighted by the dark shadow of intemper- 
ance, of the heavy burden her sorrow had 
laid upon him, of her innocent child sacri- 
ficed to the same power, there rose in her 
soul an agony of bitterness that almost 
bereft her of reason. There were times 
when her sewing dropped from her weary 
fingers, and, looking out into the close, hot 
street, with a bewildering kind of pain, her 
love for Philip seemed lost in the sense of 


The Deepening Shadows Lightened. 121 

the wrong he had done her and her father 
and Rubie. 

There is nothing a woman need fear in 
grief so much as this. If the soul can only 
hold itself true and steadfast through all 
trial and suffering, it will know at length 
the peace and blessedness which surely 
comes to every one that endureth tempta- 
tion. 

Faith Austin had not yet learned to rest 
wholly on the infinite love — the only rest 
that can avail a soul sinking in such depths 
of sorrow as surged about her. 

Jerrold, too, began to yield to an apathy 
of despair that was fast consuming what 
little strength remained. 

These two stood at that point in life 
where human help failed utterly, and a 
tender heavenly Father, who never forgets 
the need of His suffering, tempted children, 
guided them into light and comfort. 

The day after Jerrold’s chance meeting 


122 


Faith Hayne, 

with the ministers referred to, and the in- 
formation received from them, he sought 
the place spoken of. 

It was not an attractive room, and the 
audience was composed largely of the 
poorer and rougher class of people. It 
was strange and not altogether pleasant to 
Jerrold to see women conducting a public 
meeting ; but when that hymn which has 
touched so many hearts with its simple 
pathos, Saviour, more than Life to me,” 
was given out and sung with feeling and 
tenderness by the whole company, there 
came to these two weary ones a new sense 
of spiritual uplifting. Some one has said, 
‘‘a song is a wing,” and such it proved to 
these two heavily laden souls. 

The leader of the meeting was a plain, 
simple woman, who came from out the 
busy cares of her own home life, to bring 
the words of promise and consolation that 
had been such blessed verities to her. 


The Deepening Shadows Lightened, 123 

within the reach of those who sorely 
needed such words. 

Her subject was Christ as a friend and 
burden-bearer. Softly upon the troubled 
hearts of the poor and wretched gathered 
in that little room fell the prophecy of 
Christ’s mission, as given by Isaiah. The 
exposition of the Scripture reading was 
simple and practical, full of tender entreaty 
and consolation. The leader spoke to 
those burdened hearts from the assurance 
which comes only from a real experience. 
She had found Christ the burden-bearer 
to her own soul, and could point others to 
Him confidently, because she had proved 
His power to save and comfort and uplift. 
Heart must speak to heart if we really 
reach the lost and despairing. The great 
masses, about whom so much is said in 
these days, want a living Christ, and when 
such is brought to them by a soul 
aglow with love to Him and those for 


124 


Faith Hayne, 


I 


whom He died, they will reach out their 
hands, bruised and mangled by sin, joy- 
fully and hopefully to Him. This gospel 
temperance prayer-meeting, held every 
day in the heart of the great city, drew 
into it hundreds of men and women who 
felt the curse of this mighty evil upon 
them, but were helpless, of themselves, to 
break from its awful thraldom. Through 
the influence of kindly words of love and 
sympathy, through song and prayer and 
God’s word of truth, conscience was awak- 
ened, and they were led to Him who alone 
can save from the sin of intemperance, as 
from every other. 

There is a legend current in the old sea- 
port town of Cape Ann concerning its 
garrison ; how one night, sitting around 
their fire, as the hour of midnight drew on, 
they heard the tramping of a ghostly 
army. Whittier tells the story : 


The Deepening Shadows Lightened, 125 

“ Midnight came ; from out the forest moved a 
dusky mass, that soon 

Grew to warriors, plumed and painted, grimly 
marching in the moon. 

^Ghosts or witches,’ said the captain, ‘thus I 
foil the Evil One ! ’ 

And he rammed a silver button from his doub- 
let, down his gun. 

“ Once again the spectral horror moved the 
guarded wall about ; 

Once again the level muskets through the pali- 
sades flashed out ; 

With that deadly aim the squirrel in his tree-top 
might not shun. 

Nor the beach-bird seaward flying with his slant 
wing to the sun. 

“ Like the idle rain of summer sped the harmless 
shower of lead. 

With a laugh of fierce derision, once again the 
phantoms fled ; 

Once again, without a shadow on the sands the 
moonlight lay, 

And the white smoke curling through it drifted 
slowly down the bay. 

“ ‘ God preserve us!’ said the captain; ‘never 
mortal foes were there ; 

They have vanished with their leader, Prince 
and power of the air I 


126 


Faith Hayne, 

Lay aside your useless weapons ; skill and 
prowess naught avail ; 

They who do the Devil’s service wear their mas- 
ter’s coat of mail ! ’ 

^‘So the night grew near to cock-crow, when 
again a warning call 

Roused the score of weary soldiers watching 
round the dusky hall : 

And they looked to flint and priming, and they 
longed for break of day ; 

But the captain closed his Bible : ^ Let us cease 
from war, and pray ! ’ 

^^To the men who went before us, all the unseen 
powers seemed near. 

And their steadfast strength of courage struck 
its roots in holy fear. 

Every hand forsook the musket, every head was 
bowed and bare. 

Every stout knee pressed the flag-stones, as the 
captain led in prayer. 

“Ceased thereat the mystic marching of the 
spectres round the wall. 

But a sound abhorred, unearthly, smote the ears 
and hearts of all, — 

Howls of rage and shrieks of anguish! Never 
after mortal man 

Saw the ghostly leaguers marching round the 
block-house of Cape Ann,” 


The Deepening Shadows Lightened. 127 

In these latter days the old legend finds 
meaning in a blessed reality. Around the 
garrisons that guard the safety and purity 
and peace of our homes and our nation, 
this ghostly army of intemperance has kept 
its beleaguering march. Again and again 
have human weapons been aimed at it and 
for a time held it in abeyance, but again 
and again, like the spectral host of Cape 
Ann, it has returned with mocking deri- 
sion, till, in sheer despair of conquering 
such a foe through human agencies, the 
resort has been to a higher power, and the 
past few years has witnessed multitudes of 
earnest-hearted men and women praying 
that this great and deadly enemy may be 
driven from our midst. And already the 
answer has come in the thousands deliv- 
ered from the bondage of strong drink 
through the gospel temperance work now 
established in so many towns throughout 
the length and breadth of our land. 


128 


Faith Hayne. 


The Crusade developed the true method 
of temperance reform. Its watch-word was 
prayer, its remedy Christ, and its blessed 
fruits have made glad thousands of waiting 
hearts. The conscience of the nation is 
being aroused concerning this great evil, 
and, as a practical result, there is increased 
effort in every department of temperance 
reform. 

Looking across the ever -broadening 
fields we catch the dawning of that blessed 
day when the dark shadow of intemper- 
ance shall be lifted from our land, its long 
and horrible reign come to an end. 


CHAPTER XII. 


CONSOLATION. 

Jerrold and Faith often found their way 
into this gospel-temperance meeting. Its 
services were always simple, but there 
breathed through them the inspiration of 
a Christ-like love and sympathy, which 
was felt by the poor and wretched who 
gathered day after day with an eagerness 
that was often a matter of surprise to those 
who conducted them. The question so 
frequently discussed, “ How shall we make 
our prayer-meetings interesting and a mag- 
net for those who ought to be drawn into 
them ? ” was seldom raised, for the reason 
that there seemed to be no occasion for 
asking such a question. 

It is generally the spirit of every relig- 

(129) 


130 Faith Hayne. 

ious service, rather than the manner in 
which it is conducted, that gives it power 
and renders it attractive. To make the 
method in a prayer-meeting the chief 
thing, is as if one riding up a grand 
mountain by railway should make a study 
of the machinery by which he is carried, 
rather than yield himself to the beauty and 
inspiration of the surrounding scenery. A 
practical machinist might do this, but hardly 
a real lover of nature. 

With the riches of grace and glory re- 
vealed to the child of God, the wonder is 
that there is not at every gathering of 
Christians an overflow of spiritual joy and 
thanksgiving. 

Possibly somewhat of the formality and 
lack of enthusiasm may arise from making 
our objects of thought and prayer general 
rather than specific. 

There was always an impetus given to 
this meeting by the needy souls that daily 


Consolation. 


131 

drifted into it and the many requests for 
prayer that came, not only from individu- 
als for themselves, but from those who de- 
sired them for friends over whom they 
mourned. 

Day after day, as Jerrold witnessed the 
wonderful answers to prayer and listened 
to the simple but thrilling testimonies of 
those who had been redeemed from the 
bondage of strong drink and brought into 
the glorious liberty of the children of God, 
his own soul was stirred with newness of 
life. He had stood reverently before his 
Maker, adoring His majesty and power 
and accepting His will as supreme, but 
now there came to him a new revelation 
of the divine tenderness and pity — of an 
ever present Friend and Helper, who 
could and did measure all his sorrow, and 
how 

“ Underneath all grief and loss 
Drops the plummet of His cross." 


132 Faith Hayne, 

With this assurance came the rest and 
peace for which his tempest-tossed soul 
yearned. He went out from these gather- 
ings into the noise and distraction of the 
crowded streets ensphered in a kind of 
spiritual sunshine, which turned the 
gloomy shadows that of late had deep- 
ened around him into a serene bright- 
ness. 

Faith, too, found a new meaning to the 
belief she had always cherished. It was 
like manna to her starving soul to know 
that these women — gentle, refined, and 
happy — cared for such as Philip, and that 
their sympathy and effort were prompted 
by love and loyalty to Him who gathered 
the poor and wretched and erring into His 
all-reaching pity and mercy. 

One day a letter was read from a heart- 
broken mother, asking prayers for her only 
son, who had been a wanderer for more 
than two years. The leader said : 


Consolation, 


i33 


When my eye first fell on this request, 
though my heart went out in sympathy 
toward this afflicted mother, there seemed 
no human probability that we could, either 
by prayer or efforts, find her son among 
the multitude in our great city who are in 
like condition. Then, in contrast to our 
weakness, came a sense of God s boundless 
power and love. If there is any lack, it will 
be in our asking. Let us remember that the 
promise of our heavenly Father is as good 
as the thing itself even within our grasp,and 
ask in child-like, believing faith that this wan- 
dering child may be restored to his mother." 

The brooding of the Holy Spirit was 
upon this little company, as they followed 
the leader in a tender, pleading prayer for 
this special object. 

Scarcely had it closed, when a young 
man, with marks of dissipation upon his 
face, and of poverty in his shabby dress,, 
rose and said brokenly : 


1 34 Faith Hayne, 

“ I am that son. I have not been in a 
religious meeting of any kind for two 
years, and do not know what brought me 
here to-day ; but here I am, and by the 
grace of God your prayers and my poor 
mother’s shall be answered.” 

In a few weeks this lost son, “ clothed 
and in his right mind,” was restored to his 
mother. 

Jerrold and Faith each longed to have 
Philip made a special object of prayer in 
this meeting, yet their natural reticence 
kept them from making any outward 
demonstration ; but a little white note 
freighted with the hopes and fears of these 
two lonely sufferers was at length laid on 
the desk in this prayer room, and they sat 
with hearts scarcely beating as it was read, 
and its request taken to the hearer and 
answerer of prayer. 

Faith lingered a moment that day after 
the meeting ; she could not go as hastily 


Consolation, 


^35 


as she had always done before. A lady 
with snowy hair, and fine womanly grace 
in every look and tone, paused beside her 
as she passed out. With a delicate intui- 
tion she had interpreted the trouble that 
gave to Faith’s face its expression of sad- 
ness. She only took the thin little hand 
in hers and said gently: 

‘‘ Can I help you, dear child ? ” 

Do you really think God hears your 
prayers ? ” Faith asked, with an eager 
longing in her voice. 

“We don’t think, we know He does,” 
the lady answered. 

“Then He will hear your prayer for 
Philip, and he will be saved.” 

“And who is Philip? Some one you 
love, I am sure ; but tell me about him if 
you feel like it,” and the lady drew her 
away from the people and listened quietly, 
and Faith, wondering at the freedom she 


136 


Faith Hayne, 


felt, poured out her long suppressed grief 
and hope and fear. 

I am glad you have told me,” the lady 
said when Faith had finished, we will do 
all we can for you. I believe God will 
yet give you back your husband. I will 
come and see you soon.” 

The burden seemed lifted from Faith’s 
heart as she passed out, and there was a 
ringing of the old gladness in her voice as 
she spoke to Jerrold, who waited for her 
at the door. She did not lose this confi- 
dence and hopefulness, though the days 
lengthened into weeks, and they heard no 
word of Philip. There were two or three 
who had learned her story through Mrs. 
Grey, the lady whose words of kindness 
had first led her to speak of her sorrow, 
and she knew that these few were praying 
earnestly for him. 

One day upon entering the meeting. 
Faith felt strangely moved. She was late. 


Consolation, 


137 


and her eyes wandered over the room as 
they always did in search of a face she 
longed, and yet feared to see. And her 
search this time, was not in vain. A cry 
of thanksgiving rose to her lips, as she met 
the sad, imploring, almost despairing look 
that answered hers, from one whom she could 
not mistake though so greatly changed. 

The lesson that day was the “ Prodigal 
Son,” the story so old, and yet always so 
full of pathos and meaning. And when, 
after few words of tender warning and en- 
treaty from the leader, a single voice sang 
softly : 

Calling now for thee, prodigal, 

Calling now for thee ; 

Thou hast wandered far away, 

But He’s calling now for thee," — 

the tears gathered in many eyes and a 
hush seemed to fall on the little company, 
broken at last by a strange man, who told, 
in a voice unsteady with emotion, of his 
prodigal life. That afternoon, while wait- 


Faith Hayne, 


138 

ing for a companion outside, he heard the 
singing. It was a hymn his mother had 
sung when dying, and he said, It brought 
back her words to me then, words which 
Ive not heeded in all these sinful years, 
but I feel somehow to-day as if it was her 
voice as well as His that was calling me. 
Maybe, though it don’t seem likely, I can 
find the Father’s house after all, if you 
Christian people will help me. It’s been 
mostly husks I’ve been feeding on since 
she died, and poor living it is, I can tell 
any one who hasn’t tried it. I go up and 
down these streets, and I can count the 
bricks I’ve put into these saloons, but 
when I go to my own miserable house not 
a nail do I own in that. If it’s not too late. 
I’ll try to make a decent home for my poor 
wife and children. I’m glad the leader 
said He could save unto the uttermost, for 
I’m a long way off from anything good.” 

As the meeting drew to a close, Faith 


Consolation, 


139 


felt her strength leaving her, through fear 
that she might not say the right thing to 
Philip, or that he would not listen to her. 
From very faintness she dropped her head 
on the seat in front of her during the clos- 
ing song, and when she lifted it and, sum- 
moning all her strength, turned toward 
the place where Philip sat, he had gone, 
nor could she find him among those who 
were passing out or stood talking in little 
groups. Jerrold had not come with her 
that day, as he had grown so feeble of 
late, and for a moment she stood utterly dis- 
mayed and overcome, then hurried into 
the street, feeling sure she could overtake 
Philip and bring him back. To lose him 
now, just within the reach of salvation, 
seemed to be a thing too hard to be borne. 
But all in vain she wandered up and down 
the thronged streets ; only strange, curious 
faces looked into hers. A policeman 
touched her arm respectfully. 


140 Faith Hayne. 

“Young woman, have you lost your 
way ? ” 

“ I have lost everything,” Faith answered, 
despairingly, hurrying away from him. 

At last, from sheer exhaustion, she gave 
up the fruitless search, and, nigh to faint- 
ing, dragged herself home. 

Again the days dropped into weary 
weeks, and they caught no sight or sound 
of Philip. As Jerrold’s strength grew 
less, his faith grew brighter. 

“ We shall find him,” he would say, 
cheerily. “ He is not lost forever ; those 
prayers will yet be answered, my child.” 

The old man’s face, grown thin and 
white, would at such times light up with a 
serene joyousness. Faith looked at him 
then with a growing pain, for she felt that 
already he stood close to the land which 
has no gloomy shadows, and its bright- 
ness shone into his soul. “ What would 
there be left for her when he was gone ? ” 


CHAPTER XH. 


REUNION. 

The fierce July heats were upon the 
city. For ten long days no cooling cloud 
had broken the burning rays of the sun 
that poured down upon the crowded thor- 
oughfares, where people jostled one an- 
other as they surged in sweltering masses. 

Life was simply endurance on the shaded 
avenues and the broad, quiet streets ; but 
in the crowded quarters where Jerrold and 
Faith had been forced to make their abode 
it was little else than torture. 

The hot sun glared into the room where 
Faith, with tired, trembling fingers, worked 
nervously on the garments she had failed 
to finish the night before. Her employer 

would not brook delay in the return of 

(141) 


142 


Faith Hayne, 

work, and Jerrold insisted upon carrying 
it home, though he was weak from the 
loss of sleep, the night having been, if 
that were possible more stifling than the 
day. 

The streets seemed strangely confused 
and noisy to Jerrold that morning. The 
profane, angry words that fell upon his ear 
frightened him. The Babel of mingled 
sounds filled him with a kind of bewilder- 
ing terror. He grew dizzy and faint be- 
fore he reached the shop where the work 
was to be left, and there he found an im- 
patient crowd, all eager to be served first. 
Jerrold was too feeble to do anything else 
but wait till the last one had gone, and it 
was nearly mid-day when he started for 
home. The sun blinded him with its in- 
tense heat. The sidewalks seemed like 
burning lava to his feet. A faintness like 
death came over him, and he stood and 
gazed at street corners quite lost as to the 


Reunion, 


143 


direction he wanted to take, and fearing 
that he should fall and die in the street. 
But he must reach home and Faith, and 
with a prayer for help he rallied all his 
strength. A kindly policeman noticed the 
old man, and, judging that he was far from 
the place where he lived, took him home. 

Faith had been waiting for him with a 
keen anxiety, and caught the first sound 
of his slow and heavy tread upon the stair. 
He fell fainting as soon as he saw her, 
and all her loving words and tender serv- 
ices could not arouse him. The old man’s 
weary feet already touched the shore of 
eternal rest. The physician who was called 
said, It was prostration from heat and 
over-exertion ; only one of the many cases 
occasioned by the extreme weather. If 
he had sufficient strength he might rally, 
but feared the stroke was fatal.” 

For hours Jerrold lay in a death-like 
stupor, then ther^ were signs of returning 


1 44 Faith Hayne. 

life ; he talked brokenly of getting home, 
and trying to find his way in the crowded 
street; of losing Faith; of Philip; and 
between these troubled deliriums came 
visions of peace, when he spoke joyfully 
of a land where the sun should not light 
on them, nor any more heat,” of Maud 
and Rubie, and One who was mighty to 
save. Then he would beg Fakh to open 
the window and give him light and air. 

The sun rose again on the great seeth- 
ing city. It seemed to Faith like some 
pitiless demon of evil as she felt its pierc- 
ing rays. All night she had watched and 
prayed and done her utmost to soothe and 
relieve her father. Toward morning he 
had dropped into a quiet sleep which lasted 
for hours, then he awoke calm and rational. 

He returned Faith’s passionate kisses, 
and there was a look of inexpressible ten- 
derness and love in the eyes that sought 
hers, but his voice was clear and steady. 


Reunion, 


145 

as if he had passed beyond the reach of 
earthly sorrow. 

The Pilot of Galilee has come for me. 
It is only a little way across, and the other 
side is cool and still. They are waiting 
for me there in the brightness, Maud 
and Rubie. If I could take you too, Faith 
darling, it would be all joy ; but you will 
come and bring Philip with you. I feel 
sure of this as I draw near the other side. 
The prayers for him will be answered. 
Kiss me, darling ; you have been my sun- 
shine, my all in this dark world. It will 
be only a little while, and it’s not far — not 
far — I shall come, — ” 

The v/ords dropped dreamily from the 
old man’s lips, a slight tremor passed over 
him, followed by a look so full of serene 
joy and peace. Faith could but feel even 
in her grief that the great Pilot had indeed 
brought him into the port that is ''cool 
and still ” for ever and for aye. As she 


146 


Faith Hayne, 


looked at the quiet face, from which every 
trace of earthly pain and care had fled, 
her own loss seemed as nothing compared 
with his infinite gain, and a strangely 
sweet thanksgiving stole into her desolate 
heart, lifting her above the great sorrow 
she had so much dreaded. Nor did this 
feeling desert her, in the sad days that 
followed. 

Mrs. Grey had left her address and 
came quickly in response to a message 
from Faith. She took Faith into her kind, 
motherly arms, and soothed her as only 
one woman of fine and tender instincts can 
another. When all was over and they 
had laid Jerrold to rest in Mrs. Grey’s 
own quiet lot in the cemetery, she said to 
Faith : 

*‘You must come home with me now, 
dear. It is quite too dreary for you to 
live alone, you need rest and comfort.” 

It seemed to the weary woman that she 


Reunion, 


147 


too had found heaven, as she lay in the 
quiet chamber that looked out on blue 
skies and green waving trees. For the 
time, all sense of pain and unrest seemed 
to have slipped away from her. Nature, 
worn and exhausted, found relief in an en- 
tire giving up of effort or thought, save 
such as came at random. 

The days and nights passed in a kind 
of dreamy rest, filled with visions of Jer- 
rold freed from pain and weariness, and re- 
joicing in the blessed peace and reunion of 
heaven. Concerning Philip, too, she had an 
assurance born of Jerrold’s parting words. 

Now and then through the open door 
there came to her the sweet sounds of a 
busy, happy home-life, that were doubly 
restful in contrast with the things that had 
so fretted her in the noisy tenement where 
they had lived. She felt a yearning pity 
toward the people she had left in that 
dreary place. 


148 Faith Hayne. 

Mrs. Grey, with a delicate intuition, un- 
derstood just what Faith most needed, 
and she never worried her with attentions, 
though watchful and ready with kindly 
services when they were needed. One day 
when she had grown stronger, Faith said 
to her : 

** Your home seems so like heaven with 
its gentle stillness, I feel that it would 
be very easy to drift out of it into that.” 

‘‘ Or into real life and be stronger for it, 
my dear,” Mrs. Grey said, in reply. Every 
true home is a type of heaven, to refresh 
and cheer us by the way, not so much, 
possibly, by what it is in itself, as by what 
it signifies of a better home and an endur- 
ing. But you must not think of going to 
heaven just yet ; it was beautiful for your 
father to enter in, because his work was 
done, but you, I believe, have many happy 
and useful years before you. I have a 
letter for you to read if you are strong 


Reunion. 


149 

enough. It was left after one of the meet- 
ings on our desk. 

The letter was from Philip, and ran thus : 

What first led me into your meetings I can- 
not tell. Some invisible power seemed to draw 
me there. I need not say that your simple serv- 
ice seemed meaningless to me, for my soul was 
dead to all things divine and heavenly. When I 
met my wife’s sad and imploring eyes, they stung 
me into a frenzy of remorse and shame. Her 
face told how she had suffered, and it was agony 
to me, for I loved her still v/ith all my soul, but 
I could not meet her then, could not ask her to 
again link her life with mine, for I had no con- 
fidence in my own power to do better, or in any 
higher to keep me. The demons of evil seemed 
to have me in their resistless grasp. The Christ 
you said could deliver men from the bond- 
age of strong drink, seemed to me the cre- 
ation of your woman’s fancy. But I have come 
again and again to your meeting, impelled by 
the same mysterious impulse, and I have list- 
ened to your prayers for me and others, to 
your words of faith and love, till even my soul, 
shrouded in the blackness of darkness, believes 
in a living Christ, if not for me, for others who 
have not fallen so low. If faithful prayer can 
reach a soul sunk in the lowest depths, then there 


Faith Hayne. 


ISO 

is hope for me. Can you give me any clew to 
my wife ? I dare not see her till I am sure that 
strength will be given to keep me from this sin 
that has blighted our lives, but she may be in 
want, and I am not the cruel coward that I have 
been in all these years. I long to meet once more 
my wife and child, but not if it must bring them 
new misery and disgrace. Your kindness in re- 
membering me, and others wretched as myself, 
is my apology for writing this. 

‘‘Philip Austin.” 

“ Found at last ! Father, I thank Thee,” 
were the only words that rose to Faith’s 
lips, but the white linen was wet with the 
grateful tears that rained upon her pillow. 

The hope that this letter brought was 
not as many others had been, a mere 
phantom, for Philip Austin had hold of 
One who could save even to the uttermost, 
and though it was a feeble grasp it brought 
strength enough to help him cling till his 
soul came to rest surely on the Rock of 
Ages. 

In the mellow sunlight of a September 


Reunion, 


151 

afternoon Philip and Faith met. Each 
looked into a face sadly changed by the 
years of sorrow and suffering that had 
raised a dreary wall of separation between 
them, but in each was the brightening of 
a tender hope, which, though it could not 
redeem the past, hung over it a merciful 
veil of forgiveness and love. 

Bitter words of self-reproach fell from 
Philip’s lips as he heard of Rubie’s and 
Jerrold’s death. 

''And you can forgive all this?” he 
asked remorsefully of Faith. 

"All this and a thousandfold more,” 
she answered, " if only I can prove that 
I have found you my own true Philip once 
more, and that you will never again be 
lost to me.” 

" Through your love, so enduring and 
long-suffering, I have come to understand 
that of Him who has followed me all these 
sinful and wretched years, and how His 


152 


Faith Hayne, 


infinite mercy can reach and save such as 
I am. No effort of mine can atone for the 
dreadful past, but trusting in Him I will do 
my best to lighten its gloomy shadows and 
keep others from sin and despair.” 

Philip spoke solemnly, with an intense 
and steadfast purpose. Faith felt that his 
words were indeed prophecies of an earn- 
est if not a joyous future. 






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